LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

Class 


HOSPITAL  LIFE 


ARMY  OF  THE  POTOMAC, 


BY 


WILLIAM  HOWELL  REED. 
I 


BOSTON:' 
SPECIAL    EDITION. 

1891. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  189B,  Dy 

WILLIAM  HOWELL  EEED, 
LJ  Uw  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Mauach 


TO 

HON.  FRANK  B.  FAY, 

THE    HUMANE    AND    CHRISTIAN    GENTLEMAN, 
THE   FRIEND  OF  THE  SOLDIER,  IN  CAMP 

AND  IN  HOSPITAL, 
AND   OF   THE   SUFFERING   EVERYWHEBE, 

THIS  BOOK 
18  GRATEFULLY  LVSCRIBED. 


225805 


PREFACE. 


THE  writer  has  tried  to  avoid  in  this  little  book  a  too  highly- 
colored  picture  of  hospital  life.  He  has  rather  aimed  to  present  a 
sketch  which  should  have  the  merit  of  simplicity  and  accuracy  even 
in  its  minor  details,  with  a  full  sense  of  his  obligations  to  the  cause  of 
historical  truth. 

The  manuscript  was  not  written,  in  the  first  instance,  for  publica 
tion,  but  to  preserve,  for  the  writer's  own  satisfaction,  a  record  of  a 
valuable  personal  experience.  As  it  .grew  under  his  hand,  old  mem 
ories  were  quickened,  old  companionships  seemed  to  be  renewed, 
former  scenes  were  revived,  and  the  splendid  examples  of  heroism 
which  were  daily  and  hourly  witnessed  kindled  an  impulse  which  has 
resulted  in  this  work.  Yielding  to  the  judgment  of  his  friends,  he 
submits  it  to  the  public,  asking  for  it  a  kindly  reception. 

W.  H.  R. 

PREFACE  TO   SECOND  EDITION. 

THE  author  would  express,  in  a  new  preface,  his  grateful  surprise 
at  the  cordial  reception  and  words  of  appreciation  which  have  been 
accorded  to  these  memories  of  hospital  life.  And  although  the  book 
is  but  an  outline  of  a  profound  experience,  and  is  valuable  to  the 
author  only  as  an  outline,  he  cannot  be  insensible  to  the  kindlv  criti 
cism  it  has  received.  In  writing,  now  that  these  events  have  passed 
into  history,  the  memories  of  that  period  of  suffering  and  triumph 
have  become  hallowed  memories:  hallowed,  indeed,  with  peculiar 
sacredness,  from  the  recent  death  of  one  who  was  so  much  a  part  of 
those  years  of  sacrifice,  that  the  preface  would  naturally  become  a 
memorial  of  the  sweet  ministry  of  HELEN  L.  GILSON. 

But  she  would  deprecate  many  words  of  eulogy ;  and  there  should 
be  a  reverential  regard  for  her  preference,  that  we  should  stand  silent 
over  her  grave. 

That  she  lives  in  human  hearts,  is  better  than  eulogy;  that  her 
example  is  an  inspiration,  is  a  grander  triumph  of  her  life  than  any 
memorial  of  it  could  be;  and  the  author  is  gr;»teful  that  he  has  had 
the  opportunity  in  these  pages  of  making  even  a  brief  record  of  such 
a  ministry. 

W.  H.  R. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER    I. 
WASHINGTON    TO   FREDERICKSBURG. 

The  Wilderness  Campaign  opened.— General  Grant  at  the  Helm. 

—  The    Sanitary  Commission  organized  for  the  Relief  of  the  / 
Wounded.  —  They  arrive  in  Washington.  —  Scenes  on  the  Steam 
ers.  —  Belle  Plain.  —  Dr.  Cuyler,  Chief  Medical  Officer.  —  Burial 
of  the  Dead  from  an  Ambulance.  —  Confederate  Prisoners.  —  The 
Night  Encampment.—  The  City  of  Frederick  sburg I 

CHAPTER    II. 

SCENES  IN  FREDERICKSBURG. 

Ninth  Corps  Hospital.  —  Marie's  Heights.  —  Buildings  filled  with 
Wounded.  —  Adoniram  Cookson,  and  other  Cases  of  Interest. — 
Indian  Sharpshooters.  —  Last  Words.  —  The  Wounded  on  the 
Lawn.  —  A  Day  of  Horrors.  —  Reenfor cements  from  Washington. 

—  Flowers  strewing  their  Way  to  Victory.  — The  Battle.  — The 
Roses  stained   with   Blood.  —  Encampment   of  Ambulances.  — 
Night  Work  on  the  Field.  —  Removal  and  Burial  of  the  Dead.  — 
The  Baptism  under  the  Ambulance.  —  Helen  L.  Gil  son.  — Evacu 
ation  of  Fredericksburg.  —  "  Torpedo  Hooker."—  The  Guerrillas. 

(5) 


O  t«««  t       .       CONTENTS. 

—  Down  the  Rappahannock.  —  Hospital  Work  on  the  "  Kent."  — 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  James  F.  B.  Marshall 23 

CHAPTER    III. 
RAPPAHANNOCK  AND    PAMUNKY. 

Port  Royal.  —  Tropical  Luxuriance.  —  Virginia  Mocking  Birds.— 
Fire !  —  The  Negroes.  —  Their  Day  of  Jubilee.  —  The  Contraband 
Barge. —  Their  Evening  Hymn. —  Miss  Gilson's  Address.— 
White  House.— Arrival  of  the  Tenth  and  Eighteenth  Corps.— 
The  Fortieth  Massachusetts.  —  Lieutenant-Colonel  Marshall.— 
The  Battle  of  Cold  Harbor.  —  The  Field  of  Carnage.  —  Horrors 
of  Ambulance  Transportation.  —  Field  Hospital  at  White  House. 

—  Eight  Thousand  Wounded.  —  The  Death  of  Mrs.  General  Bar 
low 45 

CHAPTER    IV. 
THE    SANITARY   COMMISSION. 

What  becomes  of  its  Money  ?  —  Its  Operation  at  F'redericksburg. 

—  Hospital  Issues.  —  The  Work  of  the  Commission.  —  Its  En 
largement  as  the  War  went  on.  — The  Death  Rates  of  the  Army 
contrasted  with  the  English  in  the  Crimea.  —  General  Relief.  — 
Special  Relief.  — The  Auxiliary  Relief  Corps.  — Its  Organization. 

—  Personal  Relief.  — Hon.  Frank  B.  Fay.  — Relief  Chests.  — Their 
Contents 61 

CHAPTER    V. 
A     WOMAN'S   MINISTRY. 

The  Battle  of  Petersburg.  —  The  Colored  Hospital  at  City  Point.— 
Hospital  Kitchens  in  Virginia  and  the  Crimea.  —  Her  Influence  in 
the  Wards. .  8fl 


CONTENTS.  7 

CHAPTER    VI. 
CITY  POINT  FIELD   HOSPITALS. 

City  Point.  -  Medical  Director,  Dr.  Edward  B.  Dalton.  —  General 
Grant.  —  Negroes'  Evening  Service.  —  Sermon  of  a  Colored  Ser 
geant Q0 

CHAPTER    VII. 
THE   SILENT  SORROWS  AT  HOME. 
The  Village  Post-office.  — Soldier's  Letter.  — The  unknown  Dead. 

—  The  lonely  Italian,  Giovanni  Quaglia.  —  Italian  Letters.  ...  102 

CHAPTER    VIII. 

THE   BULL-RING. 

The  Picturesque  in  the  Hospital.  —  Scenes  in  the  Wagon  Train 
Hospital.  —  The  Sixth  Corps.  — Their  Bivouac.—  The  Bull-Ring. 

—  Sufferings  of  the  Prisoners.  — Their  Destitution.  — Their  Wants 
supplied.— Men  under  Sentence  of  Death 119 

CHAPTER    IX. 
CHARACTERS   IN   THE   HOSPITAL. 

Arrival  of  the  Wounded.  —  Last  Words.  —  The  New  Hampshire 
Soldier.  —  The  Colored  Drummer  Boy.  —  Tender  Spots.  —  The 
Vermont  Soldier.  —  Influence  of  Suffering.—  Hospital  Bummers. 

—  Track,  the  Maine  Artillerist.  — A  German  Soldier  of  the  Third 
Generation.  — Cheerfulness  in  the  Hospital.  — The  Death  of  Hart- 
man.— Comfort-Bags.— Washing  for  the  Hospitals.  —  Contra 
band  Camp 


8  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER    X. 

ACTIVE   OPERATIONS. 

THE  SURRENDER  OF  GENERAL  LEE.  —  Grant's  Closing  Campaign. 
Recapitulation  of  Movements.  —  Petersburg. —  Southside  Rail 
road.— -Ewell's  Corps  captured.  —  Confederate  Generals  Ewell, 
Kershaw,  and  Custis  Lee. —  Their  Bivouac.  —  Woodbridge,  the 
Georgia  Soldier 156 

CHAPTER    XI. 
SUFFERINGS  AT  BURKS  VILLE. 

Scarcity  of  Surgeons.  —  Scenes  among  the  Wounded.—  Engrossing 
Experiences.  —  Overcrowded  Sheds  and  Railroad  Buildings.  — 
Amputations  in  the  Field.  —  Wounded  transferred  to  City  Point. 
—  Suffering  on  the  Trains.  —  Preparation  for  Death.  — Return  of 
the  Army 1W 

CHAPTER    XII. 

PETERSBURG  HOSPITALS. 

CLOSING  SCENES.  — The  Fair  Grounds.  — Contrasts.  — The  Bloom 
ing  Gardens  of  Petersburg.  —  Mr.  J.  W.  Paige,  Jr.—  His  Work 
at  the  Fair  Grounds.  — Gangrene  Ward.— The  Rebel  Soldier. — 
His  Sufferings  and  Death.  —  The  Blue  Ward.  —  The  Dying  Mary- 
lander.— Edward  Morley,  the  Massachusetts  Soldier.  —  Colonel 
Prentiss 176 

CHAPTER    XIII. 
ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 
Effect  of  the  Assassination  in  the  Army.  — His  Character  and  Po 


sition  In  History. 


HOSPITAL  LIFE 


IN  THE 


ARMY    OF    THE    POTOMAC 


CHAPTER    I. 

WASHINGTON    TO    FREDERICKSBURG. 

The  Wilderness  Campaign  opened.  —  General  Grant  at  the  Helm. 
—  The  Sanitary  Commission  organized  for  the  Relief  of  the 
Wounded.  —  They  arrive  in  Washington.  —  Scenes  on  the  Steam 
ers.  —  Belle  Plain.  —  Dr.  Cuyler,  Chief  Medical  Officer.  —  Burial 
of  the  Dead  from  an  Ambulance.  —  Confederate  Prisoners.  — 
The  Night  Encampment.  —  The  City  of  Fredericksburg. 

rMHE  winter  of  eighteen  hundred  and  sixty-four  had 
JL  passed,  the  buds  and  leaves  of  another  spring 
time  were  opening,  and  we  were  entering  upon  the 
fourth  year  of  the  war.  For  the  first  time  in  its 
history  the  military  power  had  been  placed  under  one 
directing  mind,  General  Grant  having  been  made 
1*  W 


10  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN    THE 

Lieutenant  General  of  the  Armies  of  the  United  States, 
For  many  weeks  it  had  been  apparent  that  a  strong 
hand  was  at  the  helm.  New  dispositions  were  made, 
a  thorough  reorganization  was  effected,  and  confidence 
pervaded  the  public  mind.  Few,  out  of  the  army, 
realized  how  tremendous  the  shock  of  battle  would  be, 
while  the  Medical  Department  was  preparing  for  such 
work  as  had  never  before  taxed  its  energies. 

The  Army  of  the  Potomac  was  massed  near  Cul- 
pepper  Court  House  and  Brandy  Station,  their  pickets 
extending  to  the  Rapidan.  On  the  night  of  Tuesday, 
the  3d  of  May,  1864,  the  army  was  thrown  across  the 
river,  the  Second  Corps  by  way  of  United  States  Ford, 
and  the  Fifth  and  Sixth  Corps  by  way  of  Germania 
Ford.  The  next  day,  Wednesday,  was  consumed  in 
bringing  the  corps  into  line.  The  Second,  which  was 
to  form  the  left  of  the  army,  and  had  to  march  in  rear 
of  the  Fifth  and  Sixth,  was  not  quite  in  position  on 
the  left  of  Warren  on  Thursday  morning.  The  Ninth 
Corps  was  brought  over  on  Wednesday  and  Thursday. 
The  crossing  was  effected  without  opposition,  and  prob 
ably  without  the  knowledge  of  the  enemy ;  but  no 
sooner  did  General  Lee  obtain  information  that  the 
army  had  crossed,  than  he  at  once  moved  to  attack  it, 
before  the  line  could  be  formed,  and  with  the  object, 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  11 

doubtless,  also,  of  preventing  us  from  reaching  Spott- 
sylvania  Court  House  before  him.  He  therefore,  by 
one  of  his  rapid  and  skilful  movements,  assumed  the 
offensive ;  but  after  two  days  of  heavy  fighting,  he 
took  the  defensive,  and  pursued  that  policy  to  the  end. 
The  battles  of  the  Wilderness  had  been  fought  on 
Thursday,  Friday,  and  Saturday,  the  5th,  6th,  and  7th 
of  May.  Accounts  of  the  fearful  losses  had  been 
telegraphed  to  our  cities ;  fresh  reinforcements  were 
ordered,  and  volunteers  for  both  the  Sanitary  and  the 
Christian  Commissions  were  going  forward  to  the 
front  to  assist  in  the  emergency.  The  wounded  had 
not  reached  Washington,  but  were  hourly  expected. 
It  was  Monday  night,  the  9th  instant.  In  temporary 
sheds  at  the  Seventh  Street  Landing  the  Sanitary 
Commission  were  organizing  for  the  prompt  relief  of 
those  who  were  so  soon  to  need  their  care.  Crackers, 
lemons,  cans  of  coffee,  milk,  and  stimulants  were  at 
hand.  At  midnight  we  were  in  our  blankets  for  an 
hour's  rest ;  but  the  hoarse  cry  of  the  watchman, 
"  Steamers  in  sight ! "  brought  us  to  our  feet,  and 
before  they  were  at  the  wharf,  our  coffee,  milk  punch, 
gruel,  and  beef-tea  were  ready.  Six  hundred  men 
were  stowed  upon  the  first  steamer.  It  was  as  dark 
as  a  sepulchre  —  as  silent  as  the  grave.  An  occasional 


12  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN   THE 

moan  would  call  attention  to  some  sufferer  who  could 
not  sleep,  his  only  pallet,  a  wisp  of  straw,  upon  the 
deck.  The  men  were  packed  so  closely  that  it  was 
only  with  extreme  caution  that  we  could  pass  from 
stem  to  stern  without  jarring  some  shattered  limb  or 
suppurating  stump.  Our  flickering  candle  gave  a 
ghastly  pallor  to  the  pinched  and  suffering  faces,  and 
a  sickening  reality  to  the  torn  and  clotted  garments 
which  covered  throbbing  wounds.  Sharp  cries,  from 
time  to  time,  came  through  the  darkness,  telling  us 
that,  in  moving  about  the  boat,  somebody  had  been 
careless  in  his  step,  and  put  some  poor  fellow  in  deeper 
pain.  The  sufferings  of  the  ambulance  transportation, 
the  exposures  at  Belle  Plain,  where  the  wounded  were 
without  shelter  in  a  soaking  rain,  and  the  silent  en 
durances  of  this  crowded  steamer,  made  our  ministry 
one  of  healing  mercy  and  Christian  love.  The  men 
were  nearly  famished,  and,  as  we  moved  among  them 
with  our  cans  of  coffee,  punch,  and  lemonade,  their 
brimming  eyes  and  swelling  hearts  spoke  more  elo 
quently  of  gratitude  than  any  words  could  do.  The 
steamer  was  rapidly  discharged,  the  men  passing  out 
in  long  lines  to  the  ambulances  waiting  to  transfer 
them  to  their  hospital  beds,  where  rest  and  all  healing 
influences  would  soon  be  employed  in  their  restoration. 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  13 

As  they  passed  along,  those  on  the  stretchers,  and  the 
lighter  cases  alike,  would  hold  up  their  poor,  dumb 
wounds  for  a  cooling  bath,  which  we  gave  "  in  the 
name  of  a  disciple." 

Before  the  first  steamer  was  discharged,  others  were 
waiting  at  the  landing  with  their  living  freights,  a 
total  of  twenty-nine  hundred  wounded  men,  to  whom 
this  ministry  was  to  be  repeated.  The  same  crowded 
decks,  the  same  processions  of  sufferers,  the  same  quiet 
endurances,  all  day  long ;  the  hard,  sharp  lines  about 
the  mouth,  and  the  sunken  eye,  showing  endurance  of 
pain  and  an  unwillingness  to  intrude  it  upon  others. 
Reverently  we  covered  some  poor  fellow  with  his 
blanket,  his  only  shroud,  as  he  was  taken  out  dead 
from  where  they  had  laid  him,  his  comrades  thinking 
by  his  stillness  that  he  was  only  "  taking  rest  in  sleep," 
not  knowing  that  he  had  entered  upon  his  eternal  rest. 

With  Mr.  and  Mrs.  James  F.  B.  Marshall,  of  Bos 
ton,  I  started  down  the  Potomac  for  Belle  Plain,  on 
our  way  to  Fredericksburg.  With  a  regiment  of 
infantry  and  a  battery  of  artillery,  our  decks  were 
crowded  ;  but  our  destination  was  reached  at  last ;  arid 
here  we  found  the  base  of  the  army.  A  simple  beach, 
with  richly-wooded  hills,  rose  abruptly  from  the  water, 
from  which  long  piers,  hastily  extemporized  out  of 


14  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

pontoon  boats,  ran  out  into  the  river,  where  seventy- 
five  steamers  and  transports  were  unloading  supplies 
or  landing  the  reinforcements  which  were  pouring 
down  from  the  defences  of  Washington.  Long  wagon 
trains  were  moving  off  loaded  with  commissary  sup 
plies  and  ammunition  for  the  new  fields  of  carnage  in 
prospect,  while  other  trains  of  wagons  and  ambulances 
were  coming  in,  discharging  the  wounded  upon  the 
ground,  where  they  were  to  lie  without  shelter  until 
transportation  to  Washington  could  be  furnished  them. 
Heavy  rains  had  made  of  this  soft  Virginia  soil 
sloughs  of  mud  up  to  the  wheel  hubs  ;  and  the  roads 
would  have  been  considered  impassable  in  any  other 
than  such  circumstances  of  fearful  necessity.  Three 
or  four  thousand  wounded  had  been  discharged,  and 
the  numbers  were  every  hour  increasing.  News  also 
came  of  another  train,  three  miles  in  length,  now  due 
from  Fredericksburg.  We  could  not  feed  them  all ; 
we  could  not  dress  their  wounds  ;  we  could  not  help 
the  dying ;  we  could  not  minister  those  consolations 
which  are  so  precious  in  such  cases  to  those  who 
needed  outwardly  all  our  care.  We  could  only  do  a 
little,  and,  in  this  vast  aggregate  of  suffering,  how 
trifling  this  little  seemed !  A  kitchen  was  hastily 
established;  our  stores  were  ample  —  coffee,  milk, 


ARMY   OF    THE    POTOMAC.  15 

whiskey,  sugar,  lemons,  and  crackers ;  and,  having  an 
abundance  of  wood  and  good  spring  water,  we  were 
soon  ready  to  move  among  the  men  with  soothing 
drinks,  which  gave  them  at  the  same  time  new 
strength  and  courage.  The  rain  kept  pouring  down 
upon  these  shelterless  thousands  ;  the  ground  was  like 
a  sponge.  Fires  were  started  upon  the  hill  side,  and 
in  the  evening  they  were  gleaming  in  their  cheerful 
warmth,  while  the  wounded  were  accepting  their  lot 
with  a  patience  which  was  a  new  revelation  every 
hour.  When  a  slice  of  bread  was  offered  to  a  soldier 
suffering  from  an  amputation,  he  said,  "  Pass  it  along ; 
he  needs  it  more  than  I  do,"  pointing  to  a  comrade 
near  him,  who  had  not  tasted  food  for  days.  The 
noble  fellow  lost  nothing  by  his  willing  sacrifice. 
Such  was  the  spirit  of  our  wounded  men. 

In  this  tremendous  activity  and  effort,  where  such 
miracles  of  labor  were  performed  in  a  space  so  narrow 
that  two  ambulances  could  not  move  abreast,  all 
seemed  to  be  in  inextricable  confusion.  In  the  river 
were  barges,  steamers,  propellers,  and  transports  — 
some  at  anchor,  some  discharging,  some  arriving,  some 
departing,  and  all  jammed  together  in  confusion,  which 
was  increased  by  the  blowing  of  the  whistles  and  the 
roar  of  escaping  steam;  while  on  shore  were  tired 


16  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN    THE 

mules  and  broken-down  horses,  army  wagons  and  am 
bulances,  stuck  hopelessly  in  the  mud,  all  a  surging, 
concentrated  mass  of  intense  activity  and  suffering. 

Dr.  Cuyler,  the  chief  medical  officer  at  this  point, 
was  the  directing  mind,  evolving  order  out  of  chaos, 
and  harmony  out  of  this  terrible  discord  and  disorder. 
With  grateful  feelings  I  look  back  upon  his  benevolent 
countenance,  his  noble  form,  and  his  well-balanced 
mind,  as  he  sat  upon  his  horse,  calm  and  unmoved, 
patient  and  resolute,  giving  his  orders  with  a  quiet 
dignity  and  composure  which  carried  strength  and  con 
fidence  with  every  word.  His  kindliness  and  courtesy 
in  such  an  hour  to  a  stranger,  who  felt  it  to  be  neces 
sary  to  intrude  upon  him  with  an  order  for  transporta 
tion,  will  ever  be  remembered.  An  ambulance  was 
placed  at  my  disposal,  and  within  a  few  hours  I  had 
joined  a  train  which  was  moving  towards  Fredericks- 
burg. 

Halting  for  dinner  a  few  miles  out,  the  train  parked, 
and  the  horses  were  rested  and  fed.  While  we  biv 
ouacked,  a  man,  who  had  just  died,  was  taken  from 
an  ambulance  which  was  passing  in  from  the  front, 
and  was  laid  by  the  road  side.  The  drivers  could  find 
no  time  to  bury  him ;  but  it  was  impossible  to  leave 
that  unknown  soldier,  upon  whose  face  were  written  the 


ARMY   OF   THE  POTOMAC.  17 

untold  sufferings  of  the  ambulance,  to  be  trampled 
upon  by  passing  trains.  Procuring  a  spade,  I  dug 
into  the  soggy,  sandy  soil  bordering  the  Potomac,  soon 
making  for  him  his  narrow  home.  In  his  pocket  was 
only  a  photograph  of  a  little  infant,  which  showed  that 
there  was  one  tie  at  least  to  bind  him  to  this  world. 
Placing  it  upon  his  breast,  and  covering  it  with  his 
blouse,  he  was  laid  down  to  rest.  Gathering  about  me 
a  crowd  of  men,  —  soldiers,  teamsters,  and  others,  —  I 
performed  my  first  funeral  service  by  that  river  side, 
commending  the  soul  to  the  care  of  an  all-loving,  all- 
merciful  God. 

At  sunset  we  camped  for  the  night.  Before  the 
camp  was  settled,  a  large  body  of  rebel  prisoners,  of 
Johnson's  Division,  by  count  ninety-four  hundred  and 
fifty-three  men,  captured  by  Hancock's  Second  Corps 
at  Spottsylvania,  came  in  sight,  moving  slowly  under 
guard,  filling  the  roads,  shambling  rather  than  walk 
ing,  with  a  step  so  irresolute,  and  with  strength  so 
exhausted,  that  we  could  not  help  mingling  pity  with 
our  triumph. 

The  Confederate  soldier,  —  it  is  difficult  to  describe 
him,  yet  we  can  all  recognize  the  yellowish-gray 
homespun,  torn  and  threadbare  ;  the  bleached,  grizzly, 
uncut  hair  and  beard,  the  sallow  countenance,  the 


18  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

scant  equipments,  the  lean,  wiry  look,  and  air  of  reck 
less  defiance  or  careless  superiority,  which  is  always 
assumed  when  passing  under  Northern  scrutiny. 
u  We  uns  caught  it  from  you  uns ;  but  look  right 
sharp  for  the  Johnnies  next  time,"  said  one  to  me  in 
passing,  while  there  was  doubtless  not  a  little  quiet 
satisfaction  that  they  had  so  far  in  the  campaign 
escaped  unhurt,  and  were  now  removed  from  Yankee 
lead.  They  were  strictly  guarded,  and  at  night  were 
enclosed  in  a  hollow  square,  defended  by  artillery,  so 
parked  that,  upon  an  attempt  to  escape,  grape  and  can 
ister  would  have  made  sad  work  with  their  compacted 
mass. 

Our  ambulance  train  was  four  miles  long,  and  we 
were  halted  upon  an  eminence  which  commanded  a 
fine  rolling  country,  richly  wooded  hills,  and  quiet  val 
leys,  which,  as  night  closed  in,  were  brilliantly  illumi 
nated  with  the  thousand  camp  fires  that  were  burning 
all  about  us.  Our  own  fires  were  lighted ;  our  coffee 
was  boiling ;  and  our  pork  and  hard  tack  were  never 
so  acceptable  as  now,  when  we  rested  from  this  day  of 
unusual  excitement  and  fatigue.  The  chill  evening  air 
compelled  us  to  draw  closer  to  the  embers,  and  we 
were  soon  lost  in  sleep.  The  guerrilla  bands  operating 
in  the  rear  of  the  army  had  attacked  a  train  the 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  19 

previous  day,  run  off  the  horses,  scattered  the  unarmed 
drivers,  and  fired  upon  our  already  wounded  men. 
Our  picket  guard  exchanged  frequent  shots  with  this 
unseen  enemy  during  the  night,  but  the  dawn  found  us 
fresh  and  ready  to  move  forward  into  Fredericksburg. 
This  city  lies  in  a  valley  between  two  fine  ranges  of 
hills,  known  respectively  as  the  Heights  of  Falmouth, 
on  the  northern  bank  of  the  Rappahannock,  and  the 
Maries,  outside  the  limits  of  the  town,  on  the  southern 
side.  Embosomed  in  this  fertile  lowland,  its  steeples 
were  visible  only  when  we  approached  quite  near  them, 
the  unevenness  of  the  country  preventing  any  distant 
view  of  the  place.  The  houses  are  of  brick,  dark, 
rough,  and  much  shattered  by  shot  and  shells ;  the 
architecture  is  quaint,  and  the  general  air  is  that  of 
ancient  respectability.  It  has  none  of  the  activity  of 
Richmond,  nor  the  beauty  of  Petersburg  ;  and  although 
the  movements  of  the  hospital  department  gave  to  the 
city  a  certain  life,  yet  the  crumbling  town,  deserted  by 
its  population,  ruined  by  the  conflicts  which  had  twice 
raged  through  its  streets,  gave  it  an  appearance  of 
death,  from  which  it  seemed  that  there  could  be  no 
resurrection.  We  reached  the  pontoon  bridge  and 
crossed  it.  The  ruins  on  the  banks  of  the  river  told 
the  story  of  the  destruction,  by  our  forces,  of  the 


20  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

hiding-places  of  the  sharpshooters  that  contested  the 
passage  of  our  pioneers,  who,  in  Burnside's  first  attack, 
drove  the  enemy  into  their  intrenched  position  beyond 
the  town.  The  buildings  were  rapidly  becoming  ap 
propriated  for  temporary  hospitals,  the  Medical  Direct 
or.  Dr.  Edward  B.  Dalton,  having  taken  possession 
of  public  edifices  and  private  dwellings,  storehouses, 
sheds,  and  churches.  The  pews  wrere  torn  out,  and 
the  wood  used  for  fires  in  the  kitchens ;  but  the 
wounded  were  arriving  in  such  numbers,  that  they 
were  laid  in  the  streets  and  upon  the  sidewalks  to  wait 
for  shelter  to  be  provided.  Ambulance  trains  moving 
into  or  passing  out  of  the  city ;  ammunition  or  com 
missary  wagons  creeping  slowly  on  the  front ;  orderlies 
dashing  from  post  to  post ;  stretchers  with  dead  car 
ried  out  for  burial,  or  with  wounded  taking  their  places 
for  nursing,  —  all  was  ceaseless  activity  and  accumu 
lated  suffering. 

The  gardens  were  fragrant  and  blooming  with  flow 
ers.  Roses,  honeysuckles,  tulips,  columbines,  and 
stars  of  Bethlehem  were  growing  in  luxuriant  pro 
fusion  along  every  street,  and  were  hanging  in  graceful 
clusters  over  the  now  deserted  verandas.  The  red 
flag  of  the  Sanitary  Commission  was  seen  in  the  dis 
tance,  and  we  reached  its  warehouse,  the  store  of 


ARMY  OF   THE  POTOMAC.  21 

Mayor  Slaughter,  who  had  but  then  been  arrested  by 
the  Provost  Guard.  Our  party  of  three  reported  to 
Hon.  Frank  B.  Fay,  of  Chelsea,  Massachusetts,  the 
chief  of  the  Auxiliary  Relief  Corps;  and  we  were 
assigned  to  the  Ninth  Corps  Hospitals,  reporting  to 
Dr.  Noyes,  on  Marie's  Heights,  just  outside  the  city. 
Every  house  or  place  of  shelter  within  a  radius  of  half 
a  mile  of  the  central  building  was  taken  and  used  as  a 
hospital.  In  mansions  of  the  grandest  proportions,  in 
leaky  sheds  and  outhouses  crumbling  to  decay,  in 
rooms,  entries,  attics,  and  upon  porticos,  our  wounded 
men  were  laid.  We  were  thankful  even  for  floors  to 
place  them  upon,  and  this  without  a  single  blanket  to 
soften  a  couch  which  at  best  was  -to  be  one  of  so  much 
pain.  Among  these  houses  was  the  Rowe  mansion, 
occupied  by  the  owner,  an  old  man,  whose  sympathies 
were  clearly  with  the  rebel  cause.  His  cellar  at  night 
was  a  rendezvous  for  the  guerrillas,  who  held  their 
secret  meetings  there,  planning  for  the  recapture  of  the 
town  with  all  our  wounded.  This  house  was  our  head 
quarters,  and  we  felt  that  we  were  living  over  a  pow 
der  mine,  which  at  any  moment  might  explode. 

We  found  here  a  delicate  woman  and  her  little 
child  :  it  was  announced  to  her  that  her  house  must  be 
used  as  a  hospital,  two  rooms  being  retained  by  her. 


22  HOSPITAL   LIFE   IN   THE 

She  was  asked  to  prepare  some  dinner  for  our  party, 
and  was  promised  that  we  should  cause  her  as  little 
trouble  as  possible.  The  poor  woman  burst  into  tears, 
saying,  "  Indeed,  indeed,  sir,  I  have  nothing  in  the 
house  but  a  little  corn  meal  for  myself  and  this  little 
one  ; "  and  her  story  of  extreme  poverty  was  only  too 
true.  From  affluence  and  a  luxurious  home,  she  had 
been  reduced  to  this,  and,  as  we  afterwards  knew,  was 
even  suffering  for  want  of  food. 


ARMY   OF    THE   POTOMAC. 


CHAPTER    II. 

SCENES  IN  FEEDEEICKSBURO. 

Ninth  Corps  Hospital.  —  Marie's  Heights.  —  Buildings  filled  with 
Wounded.  —  Adoniram  Cookson,  and  other  Cases  of  Interest.  — 
Indian  Sharpshooters.  —  Last  Words.  — The  Wounded  on  the 
Lawn.  —A  Day  of  Horrors.  —  Reenforoements  from  Washington. 
—  Flowers  strowing  their  Way  to  Victory.  —  The  Battle.  —  The 
Roses  stained  with  Blood.  —  Encampment  of  Ambulances.  — 
Night-work  on  the  Field.  —  Removal  and  Burial  of  the  Dead.  — 
The  Baptism  under  the  Ambulance.  —  Helen  L.  Gilson.  — 
Evacuation  of  Fredericksburg.  —  "  Torpedo  Hooker."  —  The 
Guerrillas.  —  Down  the  Rappahannock.  —  Hospital  Work  on  the 
"  Kent."  —  Mr.  and  Mrs.  James  F.  B.  Marshall. 

INTO  the  days  which  followed  were  concentrated 
more  vital  experiences  than  usual  in  an  ordinary 
lifetime ;  hours  prolonged  into  days,  and  days  into 
months  of  suffering.  The  accumulating  wants  of  our 
men  daily  called  me  to  the  central  storehouse  of  the 
Commission,  where  the  liberal  supplies  which  were 
received  by  the  Sanitary  wagon  trains  were  as  liberally 
dispensed  on  requisitions  suggested  by  the  most  press- 


24  HOSPITAL   LIFE   IN   THE 

ing  needs  of  the  moment.  Our  principal  hospital 
building  was  situated  directly  on  Marie's  Heights,  and 
was  a  large  and  elegantly-finished  dwelling,  the  man 
sion  of  John  L.  Marie,  from  whose  name  these  heights 
are  known,  —  the  house  now  ruined  by  the  plunging 
shot  and  exploding  shells  during  the  battle  of  Decem 
ber,  1862,  which  had  opened  great  holes  in  its  walls, 
tearing  away  partitions,  cutting  through  the  roof,  rip 
ping  off  the  rich  mouldings  and  ornaments  over  the 
windows,  which  again  were  shattered  by  the  concus 
sion  of  artillery. 

In  one  corner,  upon  a  stretcher,  lay  a  soldier,  whose 
open,  manly  face,  high  forehead,  and  clear,  intelli 
gent  eye,  bespoke  an  excellent  character.  He  was 
wounded  through  the  lungs,  and  breathed  only  with 
sharp  stitches  of  pain.  I  recall  his  cheerful  courage, 
his  pleasant  companionship,  his  bright  smile,  which 
seemed  to  me  to  light  up  that  room  of  suffering  and 
death  with  a  radiance  from  the  other  world.  In  all 
the  crowding  memories  which  come  back  to  me,  his 
face  is  clearly  photographed  upon  my  mind  ;  and  I  have 
only  now  to  wonder  whether,  in  our  hurried  evacua 
tion,  his  life  was  sacrificed  by  the  necessity  of  the 
removal  from  the  tender  mercies  of  a  merciless  enemy. 
But  I  know  from  the  calm,  even  triumphant,  faith  with 


ARMY   OF   THE  POTOMAC.  25 

which  he  endured  his  sufferings,  that  he  was  prepared 
ioi  whatever  the  kindly  providence  of  God  should  send. 

Near  him  was  a  most  hopeless  and  pitiful  case  —  a 
lad,  Adoniram  Cookson,  wounded  in  the  back  by  a 
shell.  He  was  a  mere  boy,  not  over  fifteen,  so 
pinched,  and  thin,  and  delicate  in  frame,  that  I  could 
easily  have  carried  him  in  my  arms ;  and  his  face  had 
grown  prematurely  old  with  suffering.  The  only  po 
sition  in  which  he  could  rest  was  upon  his  elbows  and 
knees,  and  he  turned  helplessly  from  side  to  side, 
moaning  and  talking  in  a  wild  delirium.  I  cannot 
forget  his  utterly  hopeless  look  in  his  moments  of 
sanity,  the  eyes  and  face  so  wan  and  worn  with  days 
and  nights  of  agony.  The  poor  boy  slept  at  last  his 
long  and  quiet  sleep,  and  was  buried  in  the  newly- 
made  cemetery,  which  increased  with  fearful  rapidity 
every  day.  We  covered  his  lonely  resting-place  with 
flowers. 

Another  lad,  in  the  corner,  was  propped  up  by  a 
bed-rest,  and  was  slowly  wasting  away.  We  kept 
him  alive  with  stimulants,  and  could  not  but  feel  that 
even  this  effort  was  a  mockery.  He  wras  already 
such  a  wreck  his  former  companions  could  hardly 
have  recognized  him.  He  was  always  uncomplaining, 
could  never  express  too  much  gratitude  for  all  our 
2 


26  HOSPITAL   LIFE   IN   THE 

care,  although  he  knew  he  was  past  all  healing ;  and 
at  last,  when  it  became  necessary  to  move  him ,  the 
good  angels  took  him  gently  to  the  loving  Father's 
arms. 

Upon  this  same  floor,  only  a  little  apart  from  the 
rest,  in  a  store-room,  lay  a  soldier  in  the  last  agonies 
of  death  —  a  poor,  mutilated  remnant  of  a  man,  and  a 
most  loathsome  sight.  His  case  was  too  bad  to  be 
placed  with  others,  and  he  was  laid  carefully  upon 
such  ragged  garments  as  we  could  collect  for  a  bed, 
not  enough  to  keep  his  shattered  frame  from  the  floor, 
though  perhaps  he  had  not  sufficient  feeling  left  to  be 
aware  of  its  hardness.  It  was  always  a  relief,  when 
morning  came,  to  know  that  the  spirits  of  such  as 
these  had  passed  on  "over  the  river"  to  the  fairer 
fields  beyond. 

Even  the  entries  of  this  old  mansion  were  crowded 
with  sick  and  dying  men.  No  available  space  was 
left  unoccupied.  The  poor  fellows  just  arrived  had 
not  had  their  clothes  oif  since  they  were  wounded,  and 
were  sleeping  in  blood  and  filth,  and  were  swarming 
with  vermin.  They  lay  as  close  as  they  could  be 
packed,  the  contaminated  air  growing  worse  every 
hour.  The  openings  in  the  torn  and  battered  walls 
assisted  somewhat  in  ventilation  ;  they  were  needed 


ARMY  OF   THE  POTOMAC.  27 

and  welcome  breathing-holes.  And  so  from  room  to 
room,  from  entry  to  entry,  all  was  still,  and  dark,  and 
ghastly.  Pallid  faces,  or  bronzed  faces,  with  eager 
eyes,  looked  up  in  melting  thankfulness,  sometimes 
turning,  in  their  unrest,  to  change  a  position  which  was 
wearing  them  to  the  bone,  and  to  pray  for  a  sleeping 
powder,  which  for  this  night  at  least  should  give  them 
relief  in  unconsciousness.  "  It  is  so  hard  to  hear  the 
hours  strike  !  "  said  one  to  me  ;  "  and  yet  the  night 
must  wear  slowly  on."  Here  side  by  side  they  lay, 
through  long  days  and  longer  nights  of  suffering,  with 
no  sound  but  the  clock,  the  stifled  moan,  or  the  deliri 
ous  muttering.  The  air  was  so  close  and  nauseating 
that  we  often  reeled  with  faintness  at  our  work,  while 
these  poor  fellows  waited  and  bore  all  their  burden  in 
a  brave  endurance  that  was  like  a  miracle. 

In  a  group  of  four  Indian  sharpshooters,  in  one 
corner  of  this  entry,  each  with  the  loss  of  a  limb,  of 
an  arm  at  the  shoulder,  of  a  leg  at  the  knee,  or  with 
an  amputation  of  the  thigh,  never  was  patience  more 
finely  illustrated.  They  neither  spoke  nor  moaned, 
but  suffered  and  died,  making  a  mute  appeal  to  our 
sympathy,  and  expressing  both  in  look  and  manner 
their  gratitude  for  our  care. 

William  H.  Chambers,  whose  noble,  athletic  frame 


28  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN    THE 

was  paralyzed  by  a  spinal  wound,  prefers  a  stretcher 
in  the  open  air  to  the  close  and  crowded  rooms,  and 
lies  helpless  and  alone  upon  the  lawn.  There  was  a 
touching  contrast  between  the  poor,  wrecked  body  and 
the  bright,  clear  intellect  which  seemed  to  be  burning 
like  a  flame.  Vigorous  in  thought,  quick  in  memory, 
quiet  and  calm  in  conversation,  he  was  a  strong  man 
in  all  but  his  shattered  body,  which  was  fast  sinking  to 
decay  and  death.  He  knew  he  could  not  live,  and  he 
did  not  wish  to  live  to  be  a  burden  to  his  friends  ;  and 
as  we  were  about  to  move  him  to  the  steamer,  he  died, 
leaving  messages  for  those  at  home,  and  welcoming  the 
change  as  a  bright  angel  of  relief,  with  perfect  trust 
fulness.  I  was  strangely  drawn  to  him,  and  could  not 
resist  the  inspiration  of  his  gentle,  kindly  spirit,  which 
could  look  so  bravely  upon  death,  and  speak  so  calmly 
and  without  fears  of  those  far  away  who  would  so 
mourn  for  him.  Yet  his  death  was  a  relief  to  all  — 
to  him  and  to  us,  who  felt  that  life  prolonged  would 
be  to  him  a  lingering  misery. 

One  soldier  (I  can  never  forget  his  simple,  earnest 
faith)  asked  me  to  stop  and  talk  with  him.  A  dis 
charge  of  grape  and  shrapnel  through  his  leg  had 
shattered  it  from  thigh  to  foot ;  and  as  the  wound  was 
fatal,  an  amputation  was  deemed  unnecessary.  The 


ARMY  OF   THE    POTOMAC.  29 

poor  man  knew  his  end  was  near ;  yet  his  strength 
was  not  quite  gone,  and  he  had  much  to  say  of  his 
wife  and  his  poor  crippled  boy,  and  he  asked  me  to 
write  to  them  for  him.  He  told  me  his  motive  for 
entering  the  army,  of  his  pleasant  home  among  the 
Green  Mountains  of  Vermont,  and  of  his  great  sacri 
fice.  He  had  been,  in  his  earlier  days,  a  minister  of 
the  Methodist  faith,  and,  later,  the  editor  of  a  paper, 
which  had  taken  its  stand  boldly  and  freely  for  the 
principles  at  stake  in  the  great  contest.  He  dropped 
his  pen  and  shouldered  his  musket  when  the  call  for 
men  had  come ;  and  his  life  and  service  in  the  army 
had  been  a  sincere,  religious  offering.  He  had  a  fine, 
clear  eye,  a  calm  forehead,  with  thin  gray  hair,  sil 
vered  by  care  and  suffering.  As  I  sat  on  the  floor 
with  his  hand  in  mine,  I  found  his  extremities  grow 
ing  cold,  and  the  film  gathering  over  his  eyes.  From 
his  whispered  words  I  found  that  he  realized  that  the 
angel  was  hovering  over  him.  I  cut  a  lock  of  his 
hair,  and  the  smile  which  lighted  up  his  face  showed 
me  that  he  was  aware  of  it,  and  knew  that  it  was  the 
last  token  we  could  send  to  his  wife  and  children.  His 
breathing  ceased  ;  and  placing  my  hand  upon  the  noble 
heart,  I  found  it  still. 

The  last  words  of  one  of  these  heroic  men   were 


30  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

very  striking,  and  worth  a  record  here.  He  was 
wounded  in  the  groin,  and  had  been  lying  for  seven 
days  with  no  possible  hope  of  recovery,  and  with  very 
little  relief.  In  reply  to  a  question  about  his  burial, 
he  said,  "  Put  upon  me  a  clean,  white  shirt ;  wash 
and  shave  me,  and  put  two  white  roses  in  my  hands." 
Then  he  added  to  those  who  were  standing  over  him, 
"Boys,  keep  on  fighting  for  the  flag;  bear  all  things 
and  suffer  all 'things,  but  never  give  it  up."  His 
request  was  fulfilled,  even  to  the  roses,  and  his  grave 
was  strewed  with  flowers. 

Monday,  the  23d  of  May,  1864,  was  a  most  lovely 
day.  The  breeze  came  fresh  and  cool  from  the  north  ; 
the  air  was  pure  and  clear ;  the  sky  perfectly  cloud 
less,  and  of  an  intense  azure,  disclosing  u  the  blue 
depths  of  heaven."  It  was  a  day  for  the  convales 
cents,  and  it  seemed  as  if  those  who  were  near  to 
death  must  be  revived  by  the  delicious  softness  of  the 
bracing  air.  We  moved  them  out  of  the  stifling 
rooms  to  the  lawn.  Under  a  grand  old  oak,  whose 
spreading  branches  gave  shelter  to  nearly  fifty  men, 
was  a  Massachusetts  lad,  Joseph  White,  whose  case 
for  many  days  I  had  watched  with  the  strongest  inter 
est.  His  wound  seemed  not  dangerous,  only  painful ; 
it  was  in  the  arm,  under  the  shoulder.  He  was  always 


ARMY   OF    THE    POTOMAC.  31 

cheerful ;  and  in  his  place,  next  the  door,  I  knew 
where  to  look  for  a  kindly  greeting  whenever  I  entered 
the  room  where  he  lay.  He  had  been  sadly  weakened 
by  hemorrhage,  but  was  hopeful  that  within  ten  days 
he  should  be  at  home  under  his  mother's  care,  and  he 
wanted  me  to  write  to  her.  Taking  pen  and  paper,  at 
his  dictation  I  wrote  a  most  comforting  letter  to  his 
home ;  it  was  full  of  hopes  and  plans.  He  felt  as 
sure  of  life  as  any  of  us  who  ministered  to  him,  while 
he  was  in  reality  at  the  brink  of  an  open  grave.  I  left 
him  for  an  hour,  hardly  out  of  sight,  and  still  at  work 
among  his  companions,  who  seemed  to  need  care  even 
more  than  he  ;  when,  turning,  I  noticed  an  extreme 
pallor  upon  his  face.  He  had  just  realized  that  a 
hemorrhage,  which  was  then  beginning,  would  soon 
place  him  beyond  all  human  aid.  An  artery  had 
been  eaten  away  in  process  of  healing,  and  he  was 
bleeding  to  death.  There  was  no  help,  and  he  knew 
it  ;  but  he  was  as  calm  and  resigned  as  when  he 
thought  that  he  had  long  life  before  him.  It  was  most 
touching  to  see  how  bravely  he  could  look  at  those 
oozing  drops,  which  every  instant  told  his  approach 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  other  world.  The  letter  was 
still  unsealed,  and  he  asked  me  to  add  a  postscript ; 
then,  in  a  deeply  solemn  voice,  he  prayed,  "  Lord,  bless 


32  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN    THE 

me !  "    and  passed  on  where  all  is  blessing,  joy,  and 
peace. 

In  the  mean  time  fierce  conflicts  were  going  on,  The 
wounded  from  the  Wilderness  and  Spottsylvania  weic 
daily  swelling  the  numbers  of  our  patients.  /One  am 
bulance  and  wagon  train,  which  reached  the  Heights, 
discharged  their  living  freights  of  five  hundred  wounded 
men  upon  the  ground,  there  being  no  nook  nor  corner 
of  shelter  in  any  building  in  the  town.  We  were 
almost  overwhelmed  by  the  acciimulated  work  which 
every  hour  seemed  to  be  bringing  to  us.  Surely  such 
a  day  of  horrors  the  sun  had  rarely  looked  upon. 
These  sufferers  had  not  eaten  food  for  days.  They 
were  exhausted  with  hunger  ;  many  were  dying  at  that 
moment  for  want  of  nourishment ;  and  the  ghastly, 
undressed  wounds  made  us  heart-sick.  Five  hundred 
wounds  to  be  examined,  bathed,  and  dressed ;  five 
hundred  men  to  be  fed  and  washed,  and  with  but  our 
little  company  of  aids  to  do  it !  One  man,  whose  pite 
ous  appeal  I  could  not  resist,  asked  me  to  dress  his 
leg.  It  was  a  flesh  wound,  but  was  dry  and  hard. 
The  bandage  was  stiff  and  clotted  ;  and  when  I  had 
cleansed  the  skin,  I  found  that  he  had  bled  to  death. 
At  the  moment  of  his  appeal  to  me  his  life  was  going 
out.  But  a  few  minutes,  and  he  lay  on  a  stretcher 


ARMY   OF    THE    POTOMAC.  33 

ready  for  burial.  The  surgeons  were  at  work,  prob 
ing,  extracting  balls,  amputating  in  the  open  air,  while 
upon  every  hand  were  cries  of  agony  from  the  poor 
follows,  which  would  have  melted  any  but  a  heart  of 
stone. 

The  tenderness  and  gratitude  of  the  men  were  always 
touching.  One  man  said  to  me,  in  answer  to  an  in 
quiry  about  the  roads  over  which  he  had  been  jolted, 
"  All  this  I  can  bear  ;  but  when  I  think  of  the  tender 
hearted  people  who  come  so  far  to  care  for  us,  I  cannot 
help  the  tears."  In  another  case,  a  boy,  who  was 
very  badly  shot,  said  to  me,  as  I  wrote  for  him,  "  Tell 
my  mother  as  pleasant  things  as  you  can.  Tell  her 
the  truth  ;  but  qualify  it  by  saying  that  I  am  in  good 
hands,  and  am  doing  well.  Tell  her  about  the  garden 
of  this  house,  about  the  flowers,  and  the  kind,  good 
Mrs.  Marshall,  who  is  like  an  angel  to  us  all ;  "  as 
indeed  she  was  in  all  her  blessed  ministries ;  and  then 
he  sobbed  out  the  name  of  each  brother  and  sister 
whom  he  held  so  closely  in  his  remembrance. 

The  fearful  and  undecided  battles  of  the  Wilderness 
and  of  Spottsylvania,  the  decimated  regiments,  and 
the  prospect  of  continued  active  operations  for  an 
indefinite  period,  made  the  call  for  reinforcements  im 
perative.  The  fortifications  of  Washington  were  left 
2* 


34  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN    THE 

comparatively   undefended,   and  their  garrisons    were 
transferred  to  active  duty  in  the  field.     A  column  of 
sixteen  thousand  men  moved  down  to  join  the  army. 
We  had  received  the  news  of  the  success  and  capture 
of  prisoners  and  artillery  at  Spottsylvania,  who  were 
actually  passing  to  the  rear,  while  this  body  of  fresh 
troops  was  marching  through  Fredericksburg  for  the 
front.     They  were  full  of  fire,  and  their  enthusiasm 
was  kindled  afresh  at  the  sight  of  these  captured  guns 
and  other  trophies  of  that  bloody  field.     The  clustering 
roses  were  growing  in  profusion  everywhere  ;   and  as 
the  column  passed,  we  threw  garlands  of  flowers,  as  if 
to  strew  their  way  to  victory.     Their  polished  arms 
glistened  brilliantly  in  the  sun  ;  their  colors  were  flow 
ing  out  in  the  breeze,  and  they  moved  forward  firmly, 
and,    as    it    proved,    to    an    immediate   engagement. 
Within    twenty-four    hours    five   hundred    men    were 
brought  back  bleeding,  wounded,  dead,  or  dying ;    the 
same  roses,  scarcely  faded,  were  stained  with  blood, 
which  even  then  was  hardly  dry.     Ewell's  Corps,  de 
tached  from  its  main  army  to  make  a  detour  of  our 
rear  to  capture  our  wagon  trains,  was  met,  fought,  and 
repulsed  within  six  miles  of  where  we  were  ;   and  now 
the  ambulances  were  returning  over  the  very  ground 
ipon  which  these  men  had  moved  with  steps  so  firm 


ARMY   OF   THE  POTOMAC.  35 

and  hearts  so  light  but  a  few  hours  before.  It  was 
nearly  sunset ;  and  as  the  train  must  halt  for  the  night, 
it  was  parked  in  an  open,  ploughed  field,  directly  at 
the  foot  of  Marie's  Heights  —  that  famous  position 
which  our  troops  had  in  previous  battles  stormed  in 
vain. 

The  camp  for  the  night  was  settled  at  dark ;  the 
drivers  had  lain  down  to  rest ;  the  fires  were  blazing 
brightly,  while  the  moon,  half  obscured  in  the  smoke 
of  these  tremendous  battles,  shone  out  red  and  lurid 
upon  the  field,  lighting  it  up  for  our  ministries  to  those 
wrho  were  in  the  agonies  of  death.  Here  was  this 
vast  addition  to  our  numbers,  —  the  dead  to  be  taken 
out  and  buried,  the  living  to  be  fed,  and  washed,  and 
surgically  dressed.  Detailing  our  guard  we  visited 
every  ambulance,  moving  those  who  had  died.  One 
by  one  they  were  placed  upon  stretchers,  their  bodies 
hardly  cold,  their  limbs  in  every  position,  and  they 
were  carried  out  to  an  adjoining  field,  where  they  were 
laid  side  by  side.  In  the  mean  time  our  kitchen  was 
taxed  to  its  utmost  capacity  in  preparing  nourishment ; 
and  before  midnight  every  man  had  an  ample  supper, 
such  as  we  could  hastily  prepare.  Our  work  went  on. 
There  were  throbbing  wounds  to  be  dressed,  and  fe 
vered  limbs  to  be  cooled  by  fresh  water  applications. 


86  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN    THE 

With  basins,  sponges,  bandages,  and  lint,  and  with 
clear  spring  water,  we  went  from  ambulance  to  ambu 
lance,  bathing,  cleansing,  soothing  wounds  which  were 
yet  fresh  and  open,  and  some  so  ghastly  as  to  make 
us  almost  faint.  Arms,  legs,  shoulders,  jaws,  and  feet 
had  been  carried  away  ;  many  had  received  only  the 
most  hurried  treatment  upon  the  field,  while  others 
had  not  been  attended  to  at  all. 

Under  one  of  the  ambulances  we  found  a  lad, 
Charles  H.  Cutler,  of  the  First  Massachusetts  Heavy 
Artillery,  dreadfully  wounded  in  the  back.  He  had 
crawled  out  and  was  lying  on  the  ground,  gasping  for 
a  breath  of  fresh  air,  covered  with  his  tent-cloth,  which 
was  saturated  and  discolored  with  his  blood.  His  suf 
ferings  were  such  that  he  prayed  that  he  might  die. 
We  attempted  to  dress  his  back ;  but  to  move  him 
caused  so  sharp  an  agony,  that  we  could  only  bathe 
and  wash  the  wound  with  the  cold  water  which  we 
had  at  hand.  The  Rev.  William  H.  Channing,  who 
was  of  our  party,  with  that  lightning  flash  of  sym 
pathetic  feeling  which  was  characteristic  of  all  his 
service  in  the  field,  drew  from  the  lad  his  story,  got 
his  father's  address,  and  spoke  to  him  of  his  critical 
condition.  "  My  boy,"  said  he,  "  do  you  know  what 
it  is  to  pray  that  you  may  die?"  "Ah,  yes;  for 


ARMY   OF    THE   POTOMAC.  87 

death  would  bring  me  so  much  peace,"  he  replied. 
"Will  you  baptize  me  here?  I  shall  feel  better  then, 
for  my  father  always  wanted  me  to  be  baptized."  So 
in  that  rough,  open  field,  on  our  knees  under  the 
ambulance,  the  poor  boy  was  received  into  Christ's 
Church  on  earth,  into  the  real  communion  of  which 
he  was  so  soon  to  enter  in  heaven.  In  no  prayer  or 
service  of  such  profound  solemnity  had  I  ever  joined ; 
and  the  promise  was  made  real  in  that  midnight 
experience,  if  it  was  ever  fulfilled,  "  that  where  two  or 
three  are  gathered  together  in  my  name,  there  am  I 
in  the  midst  of  them."  Administering  a  sleeping  pow 
der,  we  left  the  lad  quietly  at  rest.  Moving  through 
the  train,  we  kept  at  work  until  all  was  still.  The 
embers  of  the  fires  were  dying  out ;  perfect  stillness 
reigned  through  all  the  camp,  with  the  exception  of 
the  meanings  of  the  men  who  were  to  pass  a  sleepless 
night  in  pain.  The  dead  were  not  to  be  left  uncared 
for  nor  uncovered.  There  they  were  in  one  long  row, 
laid  side  by  side,  stark  and  stiff,  the  moon  looking 
calmly  down  upon  them  —  all  soldiers  of  a  common 
cause,  all  dead  in  a  service  which  we  trust  had  given 
them  perfect  freedom.  With  a  flickering  caudle  we 
went  over  each  body,  examining  clothing,  marking 
every  article,  from  gun-stopper  to  watch,  or  photo- 


38  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN    THE 

graph,  or  Bible  ;  collecting  data  of  wounds  or  death, 
with  the  addresses  of  their  friends,  to  whom  the  news 
was  yet  to  come  of  their  burial  in  an  enemy's  country 
by  friendly  hands.  Then  with  tent-cloth  and  blanket 
we  covered  them,  leaving  them  to  be  baptized  with  the 
dew  of  evening,  and  committing  them  to  the  hands  of 
a  loving  and  merciful  God. 

At  daylight  we  were  on  the  field  again,  with  fresh 
water,  crackers,  milk  punch,  and  coffee,  to  give  all  the 
refreshment  we  could  before  starting  them  over  those 
terrible  roads  between  Fredericksburg  and  Belle  Plain. 
The  dead  were  now  to  be  buried.  For  hours  the  snn 
had  been  blazing  with  its  midsummer  heat  upon  the 
field,  and  its  effect  was  only  too  apparent.  With  two 
spades  we  began  to  make  the  trench,  into  which  they 
were  to  be  laid ;  and  when  it  was  finished,  the  blanket 
coverings  were  removed,  and  Mr.  Channing  stood  upon 
the  embankment  and  commenced  his  short  funeral 
service  :  "  When  this  corruptible  shall  have  put  on 
incorruption,  and  this  mortal  shall  have  put  on  immor 
tality,  then  shall  be  brought  to  pass  the  saying  that  is 
written,  .Death  is  swallowed  up  in  victory ." 

With  an  appropriate  and  touching  prayer,  fervently 
remembering  those  who  were  bereaved,  we  laid,  one 
by  one,  into  their  last  resting-place,  these  mutilated 


AKMY    OF    THE    POTOMAC.  39 

bodies,   so   changed  in  these  last  few  hours   that  no 
friend  could  have  recognized  them. 

One  afternoon,  just  before  the  evacuation,  when  the 
atmosphere  of  our  rooms  was  close  and  foul,  and  all 
were  longing  for  a  breath  of  our  cooler  northern  air, 
while  the  men  were  moaning  in  pain,  or  were  restless 
with  fever,  and  our  hearts  were  sick  with  pity  for  the 
sufferers,  I  heard  a  light  step  upon  the  stairs  ;  and 
looking  up  I  saw  a  young  lady  enter,  who  brought 
with  her  such  an  atmosphere  of  calm  and  cheerful 
courage,  so  much  freshness,  such  an  expression  of  gen 
tle,  womanly  sympathy,  that  her  mere  presence  seemed 
to  revive  the  drooping  spirits  of  the  men,  and  to  give 
a  new  power  of  endurance  through  the  long  and  pain 
ful  hours  of  suffering.  First  with  one,  then  at  the 
side  of  another,  a  friendly  word  here,  a  gentle  nod  and 
smile  there,  a  tender  sympathy  with  each  prostrate 
sufferer,  a  sympathy  which  could  read  in  his  eyes  his 
longing  for  home  love,  and  for  the  presence  of  some 
absent  one  —  in  those  few  minutes  hers  was  indeed  an 
angel  ministry.  Before  she  left  the  room  she  sang  to 
them,  first  some  stirring  national  melody,  then  some 
sweet  or  plaintive  hymn  to  strengthen  the  fainting 
heart ;  and  I  remember  how  the  notes  penetrated  to 
every  part  of  the  building.  Soldiers  with  less  severe 


40  HOSPITAL   LIFE    IN   THE 

wounds,  from  the  rooms  above,  began  to  crawl  out 
into  the  entries,  and  men  from  below  crept  up  on 
their  hands  and  knees,  to  catch  every  note,  and  to 
receive  of  the  benediction  of  her  presence  —  for  such 
it  was  to  them.  Then  she  went  away.  I  did  not 
know  who  she  was,  but  I  was  as  much  moved  and 
melted  as  any  soldier  of  them  all.  This  is  my  first 
reminiscence  of  Helen  L.  Gilson. 

Our  work  in  Fredericksburg  was  nearly  ended. 
The  flank  movements  of  General  Grant  from  Spottsyl- 
vania  to  Hanover  Court  House  left  the  town  exposed. 
The  government,  with  exhaustless  energy,  was  com 
pleting  the  railroad  to  Aquia  Creek,  in  order  to  trans 
fer  the  wounded  rapidly  to  Washington.  Two  or 
three  trains  had  passed  safely  through,  but  the  guer 
rillas  operating  on  that  line  had  broken  the  com 
munication,  and  it  became  necessary  to  use  all  the 
river  transportation  that  could  be  made  available. 
Since  the  first  battle  of  Fredericksburg,  however,  the 
Rappahannock  had  been  closed  by  torpedoes.  Fortu 
nately  for  the  wounded,  the  commander  of  the  river 
flotilla,  Captain  Hooker,  was  the  man  for  the  occasion. 
Prompt,  fearless,  and  resolute,  with  a  few  marines  he 
entered  one  of  the  towns  on  the  river,  arrested  a 
dozen  of  the  more  prominent  citizens  of  the  place, 


ARMY  OF   THE   POTOMAC.  41 

confined  them  on  one  of  his  gunboats,  and   told  the 
authorities  that  he  was   going  in  search  of  torpedoes. 
If  these  men  were  blown  up  in  removing  them,  well ; 
but  if  one  of  his  crew  was  injured,  he  would  lay  the 
country  waste,  burn  every  house  and  barn,  and  let  the 
people  subsist  as  they  could.     And  they  knew  that  he 
would  do   it.     The  torpedoes  were  removed,  and  the 
river  was  opened.     The  transports  followed  the  fleet, 
and  it  was  announced  that  the  evacuation  of  Fred- 
ericksburg   must    be    hurried   forward   as   rapidly   as 
possible.     Those  who  could  walk,  either  with  or  with 
out  crutches,  were  sent  forward  on  foot  to  Belle  Plain. 
Probably  many  fell   and  died  by  the   roadside.     We 
know  that  many  lives  would  have  been  saved  had  it 
been  possible  for  them  to  remain  quietly  where  they 
were.     From  our  own  buildings  several  were  sent  off 
who  died  before  they  reached  the  landing ;  while  to 
remain,  was  to  linger  in  the  hands  of  an   enemy  to 
whose  mercy  it  would  not  be  safe,  judging  from  many 
past  experiences,  to  trust.     The  evacuation  went  on. 
Our  own  men  were  sent  away  ;   and  when  we  reached 
the   wharf,   the    steamers,   which  were   then  crowded 
even  to  the  gangways,  were  refusing  to  receive  another 
man.     Hundreds    were   left   through    the    night    in  a 
pouring    rain.       The    Sanitary    Commission    steamer 


42  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

"Kent"  came  at  last,  loaded  with  stores  for  the  new 
base ;  and  after  the  other  transports  were  loaded,  we 
took  the  remainder,  forty  stretcher  cases,  all  being 
amputations,  on  our  decks.  The  guerrillas  came 
swarming  into  the  town,  filling  its  streets,  just  too  late 
to  catch  their  prey,  appearing  at  the  landing  only  in 
time  to  see  the  last  steamer  rapidly  moving  out  of 
sight  and  range. 

There  were  many  bad  cases  needing  immediate 
care.  We  had  every  facility, — water,  basins,  sponges, 
and  castile  soap,  lint  and  linen  bandages,  —  and  went 
to  work.  Removing  the  clotted  cloths,  bathing  and 
cleansing  the  stumps,  we  found  three  men  upon  whom 
it  proved  necessary  to  perform  secondary  amputations 
to  save  their  lives.  All  this  suffering  was  borne  in 
utter  silence.  There  was  no  complaining  ;  each  waited 
for  his  turn,  without  appealing  to  us  to  pass  another 
by  in  order  to  come  to  him.  There  was  one  German 
lad  who  could  not  speak  a  word  of  English.  He  was 
placed  a  little  out  of  sight,  so  that,  in  the  routine  of 
dressing,  we  had  not  been  to  him.  Supposing  him  to 
be  comfortable,  from  the  cheerfulness  of  his  face,  and 
his  silence,  which  had  been  quite  noticeable,  lie  had 
not  been  attended  to.  At  last,  when  I  went  to  him 
and  opened  his  shirt,  a  horrible  wound  was  disclosed, 


ARMY   OF    THE    POTOMAC.  43 

a  shell  having  carried  away  his  arm  at  the  shoulder, 
together  with  the  fleshy  part  of  his  side.  The  wound 
was  perfectly  fresh  and  healthy,  yet  the  poor  fellow 
was  so  quiet  and  submissive  to  the  necessary  manipu 
lation  in  the  dressing,  that  he  won  the  love  and 
admiration  of  all  on  board. 

As  I  look  back  upon  these  crowded  days  and  nights 
of  sad  and  exciting  experiences,  of  duties  shared  and 
work  performed  with  others,  there  are  most  precious 
memories  of  companionship  with  two  friends,*  who, 
through  death  and  darkness,  with  a  beautiful  fidelity 
to  those  whom  they  were  serving,  made  every  hour 
bright  by  their  self-forgetting  cheerfulness  and  Chris 
tian  love.  Whether  amidst  the  perils  of  capture  by 
the  enemy,  or  the  more  insidious  dangers  of  the 
swamps,  their  daily  routine  was  unchanged  in  its 
serene  trustfulness,  which  gave  new  strength  and  con 
fidence  to  all  around  them.  And  when,  after  unparal 
leled  exposures,  it  was  seen  at  last  that  disease  had 
made  fearful  inroads  upon  Mrs.  M.,  and  they  retired 
with  hardly  a  hope  that  she  would  live  to  reach  her 
home,  it  became  evident,  through  the  twelvemonth  of 
Buffering  and  prostration  which  followed,  how  nearly 

*  Mr.  and  Mrs.  James  F.  R.  Marshall,  of  Boston. 


44  HOSPITAL   LIFE   IN   THE 

she  had  been  sacrificed  in  the  absorbing  labors  of  this 
great  campaign.  With  a  lofty  consecration  to  duty, 
with  united  loyalty  to  their  work,  through  fatigue, 
hunger,  and  disease,  they  were  enriched  by  blessings 
which  fell  from  dying  lips  and  overflowing  hearts. 


ARMY   OF   THE    POTOMAC.  45 


CHAPTER    III. 

EAPPAHANNOCK  AND    PAMUNKY. 

Port  Royal.  —  Tropical  Luxuriance.  —  Virginia  Mocking  Birds.  — 
Fire  '.  —  The  Negroes.  — Their  Day  of  Jubilee.  — The  Contraband 
Barge.  —  Their  Evening  Hymn.  —  Miss  Gilson's  Address.  — 
White  House.  —  Arrival  of  the  Tenth  and  Eighteenth  Corps. — 
The  Fortieth  Massachusetts.  —  Lieutenant-Colonel  Marshall. — 
The  Battle  of  Cold  Harbor.  —  The  Field  of  Carnage.  —  Horrors 
of  Ambulance  Transportation.  —  Field  Hospital  at  White  House. 
—  Eight  Thousand  Wounded.  —  The  Death  of  Mrs.  General 
Barlow. 

PORT  ROYAL,  an  unimportant  post  village  in 
Caroline  County,  Virginia,  twenty-five  miles  be 
low  Fredericksburg,  on  the  Rappahannock,  was,  for 
two  or  three  days,  a  temporary  base  of  the  army.  Its 
quiet  harbor  was  filled  with  transport  steamers  and 
barges,  waiting  orders  to  move  up  the  York  and  Pa- 
munky  Rivers,  where  a  new  base  was  to  be  established 
nearer  Richmond.  Here  we  rested,  enjoying  the 
beauty  of  the  river,  —  its  calm,  full  current  flowing 
smoothly  on,  reflecting  the  rich  foliage  of  its  shores, 


46  HOSPITAL   LIFE    IN   THE 

which  gently  rose  into  the  highlands,  now  lost  in  the 
purple  haze  of  evening.  Upon  the  wide  plateau  with 
out  the  town  our  forces  were  drawn  up  in  line.  The 
bugles  were  sounding  and  drums  were  beating,  while, 
as  the  sun  went  down  behind  rich  masses  of  clouds 
that  were  bathed  in  a  flood  of  glory,  the  bands  struck 
up  their  grand  national  airs,  which  were  wafted  to  u» 
on  the  still  breath  of  this  beautiful  evening.  We 
landed  on  the  pontoon  pier,  which  was  crowded  with 
negroes  unloading  forage  for  the  twelve  hundred  and 
fifty  wagons  soon  to  start  for  the  front,  and  walked  up 
through  crowds  of  soldiers,  picking  our  way  among 
cavalry  horses,  ambulances,  and  army  teams.  The 
town  is  one  of  the  quaint  old  Virginia  settlements,  the 
houses  embowered  in  magnificent  shade  trees,  the  gar 
dens  full  of  creeping  vines  and  flowers,  which  peeped 
through  every  crevice  of  the  fences,  and  clambered 
over  windows  and  verandas,  while  rich,  dark  ivy  clung 
to  tree  and  wall,  and  hung  in  graceful  luxuriance 
everywhere.  The  rarest  exotics  grow  here  profusely 
in  the  open  air ;  and  there  was  a  tropical  fragrance  in 
the  air,  a  delicious  feeling  of  luxury  and  repose,  which 
only  needed  a  righteous  peace  to  make  the  place  a 
paradise.  The  Virginia  mocking  birds  exceed  even 
the  nightingale  in  the  rich  variety  and  sweetness  of 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  47 

their  notes.  Their  joyous  trill  is  never  repeated,  and 
they  seem  to  combine  in  the  treasury  of  their  throats 
the  music  of  all  the  birds.  Evening  was  coining  on. 
The  long  twilight  of  June  was  very  beautiful.  The 
air  was  calm  and  still,  and  the  serenity  of  the  night 
was  most  impressive.  Cool,  quiet,  and  tender,  the 
moon  shone  upon  us  ;  the  river  was  like  a  mirror,  and 
we  floated  along  with  the  tide,  only  steadying  oui 
course  with  the  oars,  while  Venus,  the  beautiful  emer 
ald  evening  star,  kept  its  quiet  vigil  over  our  pleasant 
hour  of  rest  and  recreation. 

At  midnight  the  cry  of  fire  started  us  to  our  feet, 
and  but  a  few  rods  away  was  a  barge  of  hay  burning. 
The  heat  of  the  flames  was  even  then  felt  upon  oui 
decks.  The  paint  would  blister,  and  the  wood  begin 
to  char,  unless  we  could  drop  immediately  down  the 
stream.  Bales  of  burning  hay  were  dropping  off  the 
barge  and  floating  towards  us.  Our  fires  were  out. 
Here  were  forty  helpless  men  depending  upon  us  for 
succor.  The  fire  soon  enveloped  the  barge,  and  shot 
up  red  and  lurid  in  hot  forks  of  flame.  The  heat 
became  intense,  and  it  was  soon  an  impossibility  to 
face  it.  For  a  time  our  fate  seemed  inevitable ;  the 
officers  of  the  boat  were  at  their  posts,  the  fires  under 
the  boilers  were  kindling,  the  steam  was  slowly  rising, 


48  HOSPITAL   LIFE   IN   THE 

and,  at  the  moment  when  our  position  seemed  to  be 
the  most  critical,  the  beam  of  the  engines  moved,  and 
in  half  an  hour  we  were  anchored  out  of  danger. 
The  next  day  our  wounded  were  transferred  to  the 
hospital  transport  "  Connecticut,"  and  were  taken  to 
Washington,  and  our  decks  were  cleared. 

As  our  armies  swept  through  Spottsylvania,  Caro 
line,  King  William,  and  Hanover  Counties  the  LO 
groes,  by  instinct,  swarmed  to  the  banks  of  the  rivers. 
Leaving  the  old  plantations,  their  masters,  and  their 
servitude,  dressed  as  for  a  festival,  and  each  with  his 
bundle,  their  only  property,  they  made  their  way  in 
companies  through  the  desert,  like  the  children  of 
Israel,  coming  out,  as  they  thought,  into  the  promised 
land.  As  we  passed  down  the  Rappahannock  and  up 
the  York  and  Pamunky  Rivers,  squads  of  families 
could  be  seen  for  miles  along  the  banks,  making  their 
way  they  knew  not  whither,  but  hoping  for  escape. 
As  our  steamer  sped  rapidly  along,  the  poor  creatures 
would  beg  by  every  gesture  of  appeal,  holding  their 
bundles  up,  raising  their  hands  as  if  imploring  sympa 
thy,  and  calling  upon  us  not  to  pass  them  by.  At 
Port  Royal  they  flocked  down  in  such  numbers  that  a 
government  barge  was  appropriated  for  their  use.  A 
thousand  were  stowed  upon  her  decks,  negroes  of  aU 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  49 

ages,  helpless  children,  and  old  men  and  women,  all 
seeking  to  be  free.  All  their  lives  long  they  had 
dreamed  of  the  day  of  deliverance.  Their  rude  de 
votions  had  expressed  it  with  the  wild  fervor  of  their 
excitable  natures ;  and  now  the  door  was  opened,  and 
they  felt  that  "  de  Lord  was  leading  dem  along." 
They  were  dressed  as  for  a  day  of  jubilee.  Freedom 
was  to  them  an  Mea.  They  did  not  know  that  it 
meant  opportunity,  hardship,  and  privation ;  they  did 
not  dream  of  education,  development,  responsibility. 
They  only  knew  that  it  was  freedom,  and  that,  in 
breaking  their  old  relation,  there  would  be  no  more 
auction  blocks,  and  no  more  cruelty. 

Our  steamer  was  anchored  in  the  river.  A  hundred 
vessels  were  there  waiting  orders  to  move.  Night 
came  on.  There  were  gleaming  signals  all  about  us, 
and  a  thousand  colored  lights  were  reflected  in  the 
water.  In  the  distance  we  could  hear,  low  and  soft, 
the  first  notes  of  the  negroes'  evening  hymn.  Impas 
sioned  and  plaintive  it  came  on,  increasing  in  its 
volume,  until  the  whole  chorus  broke  out  in  one  of 
those  indescribably  wild,  fervid  melodies,  of  which  it 
is  impossible  to  resist  the  impression,  until  it  melted 
away  into  the  subdued  moanings  of  a  few  who  were 
charged  with  the  refrain. 
3 


50  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN   THE 

Our  boat  was  soon  lowered  and  filled  with  an  eager 
company,  who  wished  to  reach  the  barge  before  their 
service  was  over.  Clambering  up  the  sides  of  the  great 
steamer,  we  found  them  just  settling  down  to  sleep. 
As  we  moved  about  among  them,  we  found  enough 
who  were  willing  to  repeat  their  hymn.  Their  old 
preacher  addressed  them  a  few  words  of  exhortation, 
telling  them  "  dese  am  solemn  times,"  and  led  them  in 
their  song.  Like  wildfire  it  spread  among  them, 
and  soon  a  thousand  voices  blended  into  one.  Under 
the  flickering  of  our  single  light  it  was  a  picture 
indeed.  Their  countenances  were  all  aglow  with  the 
passion  of  their  song ;  and  as  I  stood  looking  upot 
that  sea  of  uplifted  faces,  I  thought  that  there  was 
hardly  an  emotion  which  could  be  awakened  by  intense 
religious  feeling  that  did  not  find  expression  there. 
There  was  the  rapture  of  some  clear  vision,  the 
anguish  of  some  unforgiven  sin,  the  penitence  of  a 
lowly  spirit ;  there  was  the  wrestling  of  some  self- 
accusing  soul,  or  the  aspiration  of  one  to  whom  perfect 
love  had  cast  out  fear;  and  there  they  stood  in  all 
their  untutored  simplicity. 

When  their  song  had  ceased,  Miss  Gilson  addressed 
them.  She  pictured  the  reality  of  freedom,  told  them 
what  it  meant,  and  what  they  would  have  to  do.  No 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  51 

longer  would  there  be  a  master  to  deal  out  the  peck  of 
corn,  no  longer  a  mistress  to  care  for  the  old  people 
or  the  children.  They  were  to  work  for  themselves, 
provide  for  their  own  sick,  and  support  their  own 
infirm ;  but  all  this  was  to  be  done  under  new  con 
ditions.  No  overseer  was  to  stand  over  them  with  the 
whip,  for  their  new  master  was  the  necessity  of  earn 
ing  their  daily  bread.  Very  soon  new  and  higher 
motives  would  come  ;  fresh  encouragements,  a  nobler 
ambition,  would  grow  into  their  new  condition.  Then 
in  the  simplest  language  she  explained  the  difference 
between  their  former  relations  with  the  then  master 
and  their  new  relations  with  the  northern  people, 
showing  that  labor  here  was  voluntary,  and  that  they 
could  only  expect  to  secure  kind  employers  by  faith 
fully  doing  all  they  had  to  do.  Then,  enforcing  truth 
fulness,  neatness,  and  economy,  she  said,  — 

"  You  know  that  the  Lord  Jesus  died  and  rose 
again  for  you.  You  love  to  sing  his  praise  and  to 
draw  near  to  him  in  prayer.  But  remember  that  this  is 
not  all  of  religion.  You  must  do  right  as  well  as  pray 
right.  Your  lives  must  be  full  of  kind  deeds  towards 
each  other,  full  of  gentle  and  loving  affections,  full  of 
unselfishness  and  truth  :  this  is  true  piety.  You  must 
make  Monday  and  Tuesday  just  as  good  and  pure  as 


52  HOSPITAL   LIFE   IN    THE 

Sunday  is,  remembering  that  God  looks  not  only  at 
your  prayers  and  your  emotions,  but  at  the  way  you 
live,  and  speak,  and  act,  every  hour  of  your  lives." 
Then  she  sang  this  exquisite  hymn  by  Whittier :  — 

"  O,  praise  an'  tanks,  —  de  Lord  he  come 

To  set  de  people  free; 
An'  massa  tink  it  day  ob  doom, 

An'  we  ob  jubilee. 
De  Lord  dat  heap  de  Red  Sea  wabes, 

He  just  as  'trong  as  den; 
He  say  de  word,  we  last  night  slabea 

To-day  de  Lord's  free  men. 

We  pray  de  Lord,  —  he  gib  us  signs 

Dat  some  day  we  be  free; 
De  norf  wind  tell  it  to  de  pines, 

De  wild  duck  to  de  sea. 
We  tink  it  when  de  church  bell  ring, 

We  dream  it  in  de  dream; 
De  rice  bird  mean  it  when  he  sing, 

De  eagle  when  he  scream. 

We  know  de  promise  nebber  fail, 

An'  nebber  lie  de  word; 
So,  like  de  'postles  in  de  jail, 

We  waited  for  de  Lord. 
An'  now  he  open  ebery  door, 

An*  trow  away  de  key; 
He  tink  we  lub  him  so  before, 

We  lub  him  better  free. 

De  yam  will  grow,  de  cotton  blow, 

He'll  gib  de  rice  and  corn; 
So  nebber  you  fear,  if  ncbbor  you  hear 

De  driver  blow  his  horn." 


ARMY  OF   THE  POTOMAC.  53 

Here  were  a  thousand  people  breathing  their  first 
free  air.  They  were  new  born  with  this  delicious 
sense  of  freedom.  They  listened  with  moistened  eyes 
to  every  word  which  concerned  their  future,  and  felt 
that  its  utterance  came  from  a  heart  which  could  em 
brace  them  all  in  its  sympathies.  Life  was  to  them  a 
jubilee  only  so  far  as  they  could  make  it  so  by  a  con 
sciousness  of  duty  faithfully  done.  They  had  hard 
work  before  them,  much  privation,  many  struggles. 
They  had  everything  to  learn  —  the  new  industries  of 
the  North,  their  changed  social  condition,  and  how  to 
accept  their  new  responsibilities. 

As  she  spoke  the  circle  grew  larger,  and  they 
pressed  round  her  more  eagerly.  It  was  all  a  part 
of  their  new  life.  They  welcomed  it ;  and,  by  every 
possible  expression  of  gratitude  to  her,  they  showed 
how  desirous  they  were  to  learn.  Those  who  were* 
present  can  never  forget  the  scene  —  a  thousand  dusky 
faces,  expressive  of  such  fervency  and  enthusiasm, 
their  large  eyes  filled  with  tears,  answering  to  the 
throbbing  heart  below,  all  dimly  outlined  by  the  flicker 
ing  rays  of  a  single  lamp.  And  when  it  was  over,  we 
felt  that  we  could  understand  our  relations  to  them, 
and  the  new  duties  which  this  great  hour  had  brought 
upon  us. 


54  HOSPITAL    LIFE  IN   THE 

As  the  campaign  progressed,  and  the  army  moved 
towards  Richmond,  there  took  place  the  fiercer  con 
flicts  of  Spottsylvania  Court  House  and  Cold  Harbor, 
with  the  lesser  skirmishes  and  counter  attacks  upon 
alternate  lines  day  by  day.  Up  the  Pamunky  and 
York  Rivers  to  White  House,  and  through  the  poi 
soned  atmosphere  of  the  swamps,  the  hospital  depart 
ment  followed  on  the  great  movements  of  the  army, 
which  sent  daily  its  wagon  and  ambulance  trains  of 
wounded  to  the  rear.  The  variety  of  high  and  low 
lands,  the  abandoned  plantations,  ruined  houses,  and 
crumbling  chimneys,  all  bearing  the  marks  of  the  deso 
lations  of  war,  gave  a  sad  picturesqueness  to  the 
scenery,  which  in  other  days  might  have  been  called 
beautiful. 

We  reached  White  House  at  sunset  on  the  30th  of 
May.  The  open  plain  was  filled  with  troops,  which 
proved  to  be  a  part  of  the  army  of  General  Butler, 
under  the  command  of  General  W.  F.  Smith,  consist 
ing  of  the  Eighteenth  Army  Corps  and  a  part  of  the 
Tenth.  They  were  just  going  into  camp,  having  but 
then  arrived  on  their  way  to  join  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac,  which  at  that  moment  was  not  at  a  greater 
distance  than  fifteen  miles*  It  was  a  brilliant  sunset, 
lighting  up  with  floods  of  mellow  light  this  great 


ARMY  OF   THE  POTOMAC.  55 

camping  ground,  and  reflected  from  thousands  of  glis 
tening  arras.  The  dress  parade  was  over,  and  the 
army  was  seeking  its  rest.  The  camp  fires  were  blaz 
ing  as  night  came  on ;  the  colored  lights  from  the 
river  fleet  were  reflected  in  every  dancing  ripple,  while 
the  sentries  moved  on  their  lonely  beats,  and  the  din 
of  the  camp  was  hushed  and  still.  Through  the 
night  the  Medical  Director,  Dr.  Dalton,  was  upon  the 
ground,  selecting  a  site  for  the  hospital.  The  highest 
ground,  with  a  proximity  to  good  water,  was  the  first 
necessity.  Several  ample  springs  were  found,  an  open 
field  was  secured  near  by  and  easily  accessible  from 
the  river. 

While  we  were  waiting  the  arrival  of  the  wounded, 
we  went  in  search  of  the  Fortieth  Massachusetts  Regi 
ment.  The  headquarters  were  under  a  thick  bower 
of  magnolia  leaves,  and  we  received  a  cordial  welcome 
from  Lieutenant-Colonel  Marshall.  The  men  were 
resting  on  their  arms,  their  knapsacks  being  merely 
unstrapped,  and  their  guns  lying  within  reach,  ready 
for  marching  orders.  The  men  were  full  of  spirit  and 
enthusiasm,  although  in  the  midst  of  a  severe  cam 
paign.  They  were  to  enter  upon  their  work  again 
to-morrow,  few  of  them  probably  realizing  that  the 
setting  sun  of  that  day  was  to  be  the  last  that  mauy 


56  HOSPITAL    LIFE  IN   THE 

of  them  would  ever  look  upon.     As  we   sat  in  this 
cool,  shady  spot,  a  staff  officer  rode  up  with  orders  to 
have  the  regiment  prepared  to  move  at  a  moment's 
notice,  and  we  left  the  column  ready  for  its  march* 
The  skirmishing  previous  to  the  battle  of  Cold  Harbor 
had  begun.      The  heavy  guns  were  distinctly  heard 
during  the  morning  —  that  desultory  firing,   ominous 
of  the  coming  engagement.     The  regiment  joined  its 
brigade,  marched  to  Cold  Harbor,  and,  before  another 
sun  had  set,  the  colonel  and  one  hundred  of  his  brave 
men  were  dead  and  buried  on  the  field.     The  fire  of 
a  genuine  patriotism  burned  in  the  heart  of  Colonel 
Marshall.     Bold  as  a  lion,  he  was  as  sensitive  as  a 
girl.     With  utter  fearlessness  in  danger,  nothing  could 
touch  so  quickly  those  finer  sensibilities  of  honor  as 
the    slightest   intimation   of  reproach   that   from   any 
cause  he  was  neglectful  of  his  duty.     The  life  of  a 
skilful  officer,  of  a  devoted,  earnest,  and  faithful  man, 
was  thrown  away  in  rashly  vindicating  himself  from 
an  aspersion  as  unjust  as  it  was  inconsiderate;  and 
when   the    noble    fellow    fell,   the   tears   of    his    men 
watered   his   grave.      The   brown,    haggard    soldiers, 
with  powder-stained  hands,  placed  him  reverently  un 
der  the  sod,  with  their  comrades  who  fell  at  his  side. 
The    sights   of  a   field   of    carnage    must    not    be 


ARMY  OF    THE   POTOMAC.  57 

described.     But  in  the  rear  of  it  we  can  see  groups 
of  men  sitting  under  trees,  or  lying  in  agony,  having 
crawled  to  some  shady  spot,  to  a  brook-side  or  ravine, 
where  they  may  bathe  their  fevered  wounds  or  quench 
their  thirst,  while  waiting  their  turn  to  be  removed  in 
ambulances  to  the  hospital.      The  Sanitary  Commis 
sion's  supply  wagons,  which  have  been  pushed  forward 
to  the  field,  are  stationed  where  they  can  afford  the 
most    relief.     Many   sufferers    are    necessarily   passed 
by;    but   how  many  an  exhausted  man   has  lived  to 
tell  the  story  of  the  Commission's  timely  ministry,  but 
for  which    he  would   have   been   numbered  with   the 
dead.     In  the  ambulances  are  concentrated    probably 
more  acute  suffering  than  may  be  seen  in  the  same 
space  in  all  this  world  beside.     The  worst  cases  only 
have  the  privilege  of  transportation  ;  and  what  a  priv 
ilege  !     A  privilege  of  being  violently  tossed  from  side 
to  side,  of  having  one  of  the   four  who  occupy  the 
vehicle  together  thrown  bodily,  perhaps,  upon  a  gaping 
wound ;    of  being    tortured,   and   racked,   and    jolted, 
when    each  jarring  of  the    ambulance    is    enough    to 
make  the  sympathetic  brain  burst  with  agony.     How 
often    have   I    stood   on    the    step   behind,  and  heard 
the  cry,  "  O  God,  release  me  from  this  agony  !  "  and 
then  some  poor  stump  would  be  jolted  from  its  place, 
3* 


58  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

and  be  brought  smartly  up  against  the  wooden  frame 
work  of  the  wagon,  while  tears  would  gather  in  the 
eyes  and  roll  down  over  furrowed  cheeks.  And  then 
some  poor  fellow  would  take  a  suspender  and  tie  it  to 
the  wagon  top,  and  hold  to  that,  in  order  to  break  the 
effect  of  the  jolting  ambulance,  as  it  careened  from 
side  to  side,  or  went  ploughing  on  through  roads  ren 
dered  almost  impassable  by  the  enormous  transporta 
tion  service  of  the  army.  And  yet,  as  a  class,  these 
ambulance  drivers  were  humane  men.  I  have  been 
with  them  at  their  camp  fires,  and  have  shared  their 
rough  evening  meal ;  I  have  seen  their  carefulness  and 
skill  in  driving,  and  have  wondered  sometimes  at  the 
tender  considerateness  with  which  they  ministered  to 
their  suffering  comrades,  when  their  life  of  hardship 
and  their  rough  associations  would  have  such  ten 
dency  to  make  them  insensible.  It  was  stated  that 
never  before  in  any  campaign  of  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac  had  army  wagons  been  called  into  use  for  the 
transportation  of  wounded  men  ;  yet,  day  after  day, 
the  trains  passed  through  Fredericksburg,  as  they 
were  at  that  moment  arriving  at  White  House,  with 
their  living  freights  of  suffering  men. 

The  dead  at  Cold  Harbor  were  left  unburied,  and 
the  wounded  were  rapidly  sent  to  White  House,  where 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  59 

eight  thousand  arrived  before  a  hospital  was  estab 
lished  to  receive  them.  The  vast  plateau  was,  how 
ever,  soon  covered  with  tents ;  kitchens  and  feeding 
stations  were  established,  and  the  regular  routine  of 
hospital  work  went  on.  In  looking  back  upon  this 
hospital  encampment  at  White  House,  and  all  the 
sufferings  experienced  there,  its  distinctive  features 
are  lost  in  the  recollection  of  agonizing  sights  and 
sounds,  and  in  the  sense  of  accumulating  duties,  of 
sleepless  nights,  of  days  crowded  with  painful  experi 
ences,  of  heart  and  brain  overwhelmed  with  the  effort 
to  relieve  so  much  suffering.  When  the  army  crossed 
the  James,  on  the  14th  of  June,  and  White  House  was 
evacuated,  the  whole  equipage  of  the  hospital  was 
transported  to  City  Point,  which  was  to  remain  the 
base  until  the  war  should  close.  Through  tropical 
heat  and  drenching  showers  this  holy  work  went  on, 
until  many  were  stricken  down  with  miasmatic  fevers, 
—  some,  alas !  to  die,  and  others  to  approach  so  near 
to  death  as  to  hear  the  rustle  of  the  angels'  wings. 

Of  our  own  more  immediate  party,  Mrs.  General 
Barlow  was  the  only  one  who  died.  Her  exhausting 
work  at  Fredericksburg,  where  the  largest  powers  of 
administration  were  displayed,  left  but  a  small  meas 
ure  of  vitality  with  which  to  encounter  the  severe 


60  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

exposures  of  the  poisoned  swamps  of  the  Pamunky, 
and  the  malarious  districts  of  City  Point.  Here,  in 
the  open  field,  she  toiled  with  Mr.  Marshall  and  Miss 
Gilson,  under  the  scorching  sun,  with  no  shelter  from 
the  pouring  rains,  with  no  thought  but  for  those  who 
were  suffering  and  dying  all  around  her.  On  the 
battle-field  of  Petersburg,  hardly  out  of  range  of  the 
enemy,  and  at  night  witnessing  the  blazing  lines  of  fire 
from  right  to  left,  among  the  wounded,  with  her  sym 
pathies  and  powers  of  both  mind  and  body  strained  to 
the  last  degree,  neither  conscious  that  she  was  working 
beyond  her  strength,  nor  realizing  the  extreme  exhaus 
tion  of  her  system,  she  fainted  at  her  work,  and  found, 
only  when  it  was  too  late,  that  the  raging  fever  was 
wasting  her  life  away.  It  was  strength  of  will  which 
sustained  her  in  this  intense  activity,  when  her  poor, 
tired  body  was  trying  to  assert  its  own  right  to  repose. 
Yet  to  the  last,  her  sparkling  wit,  her  brilliant  intel 
lect,  her  unfailing  good  humor,  lighted  up  our  moments 
of  rest  and  recreation.  So  many  memories  of  her 
beautiful  constancy  and  self-sacrifice,  of  her  bright  and 
genial  companionship,  of  her  rich  and  glowing  sympa 
thies,  of  her  warm  and  loving  nature,  come  back  to 
me,  that  I  feel  how  inadequate  would  be  any  tribute  I 
could  pay  to  her  worth. 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  61 


CHAPTER    IV. 

THE    SANITARY   COMMISSION. 

What  becomes  of  its  Money  ?— Its  Operation  at  Fredericksburg.-- 
Hospital  Issues.  — The  Work  of  the  Commission.  —  Its  Enlarge 
ment  as  the  War  went  on.  —  The  Death  Rates  of  the  Army  con 
trasted  with  the  English  in  the  Crimea.  —  General  Relief.  —Spe 
cial  Relief. —  The  Auxiliary  Relief  Corps.  — Its  Organization.— 
Personal  Relief.  —  Hon.  Frank  B.  Fay.  —  Relief  Chests.  —  Their 
Contents. 

IT  would  be  clearly  impossible  in  a  few  paragraphs 
to  condense  all  that  might  be  said  of  the  Sanitary 
Commission.  Its  service  embraced  all  those  more 
immediate  necessities  of  the  soldier,  of  personal  relief, 
both  in  the  field  and  in  the  hospital,  and  included  in 
its  operations  a  vast  aggregate  of  good,  out  of  the 
army,  which  never  met  the  public  eye.  Its  various 
departments  in  the  field ;  its  bureaus  in  Washington, 
Philadelphia,  and  New  York  ;  its  beneficent  operations 
all  over  the  continent,  wherever  a  soldier's  comfort 
was  to  be  provided  for,  or  his  interests  were  to  be  pro- 


62  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

tected,  need  a  volume  for  the  record ;  and  if  the  story- 
is  ever  told,  it  will  be  one  of  the  brightest  pages  in  our 
national  history.     In  the  operations  of  this  vast  cam 
paign  it  was  foremost  in  everything.     It  reached  the 
new  base  as  soon  as  there  were  soldiers  to  protect  it. 
It  was  at  work  preparing  for  hospitals  and  providing 
necessary  stores  before  the  government  machinery  be 
gan  to  move ;  and  its  red  flags  were  seen  everywhere 
with  the  stars  and  stripes,  establishing  its  feeding  sta 
tions  and  its  depots  of  supplies.     It  was  made  supple 
mentary  to  the  government ;  and  thus,  in  emergencies 
of  great  suffering,  or  when   starvation  threatened  to 
add  its  horrors  to  the  miseries  of  the  wounded,  the 
Commission  was  at  hand  with  its  medicines,  morphine, 
or  chloroform,  saving  by  them  as  many  lives  as  by  its 
stimulants  and  food.     In  this  campaign  the  most  per 
fect  understanding   existed  between  the  Medical    Di 
rector,  Dr.  Dalton,  and  the  gentlemen   in   charge   of 
the  Commission.     He  liberally  answered  requisitions, 
granted  concessions,  offered  facilities  to  its  agents,  and 
promoted   its   efficiency  in   every  way,   and  thus  vast 
suffering  was  relieved  through  the  harmonious  blend- 
in"1  of  the  two  agencies.     The  unselfish  and  devoted 
heroism  of  surgeons,  both  regular  and  volunteer,  the 
prompt  and  the  careful  and  humane  performance  of 


ARMY   OF    THE   POTOMAC. 


their  duties,  have  led  many  to  say,  that  110  campaign 
since  the  war  commenced  had  seen  such  thorough 
faithfulness  in  the  pressing  cares  and  responsibilities 
of  their  positions,  while  never  before  had  there  been 
known  such  variety  or  severity  of  wounds. 

A  natural  question,  "  What  becomes  of  the  money 
of    the  Sanitary  Commission?"  was  often  asked.     It 
was   felt   that   the   large   balances,    at    various    times 
known    to   be    in    the    treasury   of    the    Commission, 
should   prove    sufficient    until   the    war   should   close. 
Try  to  realize  the  necessary  comforts  to  be  supplied  to 
a  hundred  wounded  men.     Consider  the  rolls  of  cloth 
ing,   shirts,   drawers,  and  stockings  ;  the  pillows  and 
pads  for  stumps  ;  the  bed-ticks,  slings,  and  bed-pans  ; 
the   tents,    blankets,    and    slippers,    fans    and    basins, 
sponges,  drinking-cups  and  spoons,  —  each  man  requir 
ing  more  or  less  of  all  of  these,  and  a  hundred  things 
beside,  for  his  outward  comfort,  —  and  then  consider 
the  articles  of  food,  including  every  necessary  stimu 
lant,  —  oranges,   lemons,    soft   crackers,   oatmeal   for 
gruel,  farina,  cordials,  canned  and   dried   fruits,  and 
meats  and  vegetables,  condensed  milk  and  coffee,  sugar 
and  tobacco,  eggs  and  crackers,  —  and  all  this,  not  for 
one  man,  nor  a  hundred,  nor  a  thousand,  but  for  tens 
of    thousands,    in   one   department   only   of  the   vast 


64  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN    THE 

campaign.  It  is  also  to  be  remembered  that  in  Vir 
ginia  the  work  was  not  simply  with  nor  in  the  midst 
of  the  army,  nor  only  upon  the  battle-fields  ;  it  was 
spread  over  vast  tracts  of  country  through  which  the 
army  moved,  where  wounded  men  had  been  left  in  the 
woods  or  uninhabited  plains.  Its  stations  were  estab 
lished  not  only  where  it  was  known  there  would  be 
want,  but  where  there  might  be  a  possibility  of  need, 
requiring  comprehensive  forethought,  prompt  and  ener 
getic  action,  and  unwearied  labor  in  infinite  detail. 
Of  some  articles  the  requirements  were  enormous. 
Condensed  milk  by  the  ton ;  shirts  by  tens  of  thou 
sands  ;  ice  by  the  cargo  ;  and  so  on,  with  the  long  list 
of  supplies.  And  this  material  had  to  be  transported 
by  wagon  trains  from  one  base  to  another ;  horses 
were  to  be  purchased,  their  forage  provided,  drivers  to 
be  paid,  steamers  to  be  chartered,  and  coal  procured. 
It  was  a  gigantic  machinery,  and  as  beneficent  in  its 
working  as  it  was  vast  in  its  proportions.  The 
cash  expenditure  for  the  mouth  of  May,  1864,  was 
$250,000 ;  and  this  did  not  include  the  material 
contributed  gratuitously,  nor  the  supplies  sent  to  the 
central  depots  as  a  gift. 

The   work    at   Fredericksburg   was   carefully   sub 
divided  ;  one  hundred  and  fifty  agents  were  assigned 


ARMY   OF   THE  POTOMAC.  65 

to  the  various  Corps  Hospitals,  each  responsible  to 
the  chief  of  the  corps,  Hon.  Frank  B.  Fay  report 
ing  to  him  for  instructions,  and  drawing  through 
him  their  supplies.  The  central  storehouse  was  sup 
plied  daily  by  the  wagon  trains  which  were  loaded  at 
Belle  Plain  ;  but  such  was  the  demand  for  stores,  that 
no  sooner  had  an  invoice  been  unloaded,  than  boxes, 
barrels,  and  shelves  were  emptied  to  answer  the  press 
ing  calls.  On  one  occasion,  within  ten  days,  28,763 
pieces  of  dry  goods,  shirts,  towels,  bed-ticks,  and  pil 
lows  were  sent  and  issued  ;  while  upon  another  occa 
sion  were  issued  in  sixty  days  of 

Hospital  Furniture  and  Personal  Clothing. 


Quilts, 30,197 

Blankets, 13,500 

Sheets, 42,945 

Pillows, 35,877 

Pillow-cases 4y,906 

Pillow-ticks, 2,209 

Bed-ticks, 11,716 

Shirts, 87,994 


Drawers, 48,303 

Socks, 80,322 

Slippers, 14,984 

Handkerchiefs 43,000 

Towels, 05,104 

Wrappers, 10,235 

Flannel  Bands,  ....    3,084 


To  a  mind  oppressed  by  contemplating  the  horrors 
of  war,  the  Sanitary  Commission  alone  seemed  to  shed 
a  gleam  of  sunshine  over  the  dismal  scene.  Men 
blessed  it  with  their  dying  breath  ;  they  prayed  for  it 
as  they  lay  weak  and  weary  ;  and  one  man,  just  before 


66  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

he  died,  said,  "  Here  is  my  pocket-book :  give  its  con 
tents  to  the  Sanitary  Commission." 

Let  us  not  doubt  the  refining  influence  of  suffering. 
Every  day  we  were  made  stronger  for  duty  by  the 
beautiful  revelations  of  character  which  this  heavy 
trial  had  brought  out.  Men  of  roughest  exterior,  who 
had  faced  death  in  every  form,  who  were  grim  and 
fearless  in  battle,  and  who  had  seemed  utterly  destitute 
of  the  finer  sensibilities,  when  lying  in  pain,  would 
become  as  quiet,  and  gentle,  and  subdued  as  children ; 
as  patient,  resigned,  and  even  hopeful,  as  any  saint 
who  had  overcome  all  things  in  the  discipline  of  life. 
A  fact  of  this  kind  was  brought  to  my  notice.  A 
wounded  soldier,  worn  with  heavy  marches,  wounds, 
and  camp  disease,  died  in  the  hospital  in  perfect  peace. 
Some,  who  witnessed  his  sweet  patience  and  content 
through  great  languor  and  weariness,  fancied  some 
times  that  they  "  could  already  see  the  brilliant  par 
ticles  of  a  halo  above  his  head."  Before  he  died,  he 
is  said  to  have  written  this  touching  little  hymn  :  — 

«'I  lay  me  down  to  sleep 

With  little  thought  or  care 
Whether  my  waking  find 
Me  here  or  there  ! 

A  bowing,  burdened  head, 
That  only  asks  to  rest 


ARMY   OF   THE  POTOMAC.  f)7 

Unquestioning  upon 
A  loving  breast. 

My  good  right  hand  forgets 

Its  cunning  now; 
To  march  the  weary  march 

I  know  not  how. 

I  am  not  eager,  bold, 

Nor  strong.    All  that  is  past. 
I  am  ready  not  to  do 

At  last,  at  last. 

My  half  day's  work  is  done, 

And  this  is  all  my  part : 
I  give  a  patient  God 

My  patient  heart, — 

And  grasp  his  banner  still, 

Though  all  its  blue  be  dim; 
These  stripes,  no  less  than  stars, 

Lead  after  him." 

The  work  of  the  Commission  embraced,  in  the  first 
place,  the  sanitary  concerns  of  the  army,  the  means 
of  preserving  the  health  and  securing  the  general 
efficiency  of  the  troops  in  the  field  and  their  comfort  in 
the  hospitals.  Ventilation  of  tents,  drainage  of  camps, 
and  all  of  those  healthful  measures  in  an  army,  the 
neglect  of  which  is  seen  in  frightful  rates  of  mortality, 
received  attention.  To  illustrate  briefly  the  value  of 
this  work  of  the  Commission,  the  contrast  is  presented 
between  the  annual  death  rate  of  the  English  forces  in 


68  HOSPITAL   LIFE   IN   THR 

the  Crimean  war  and  that  of  our  own  armies.  "  In 
the  Crimea  it  increased  from  129  per  1000  men  per 
annum,  to  1174  per  1000  men  per  annum,  of  which 
97  per  cent,  was  from  disease."  In  other  words,  iu 
order  to  supply  the  loss  by  death  alone,  it  would  be 
necessary  to  replace  the  dead  army  by  a  new  one  of 
equal  strength  in  forty-four  weeks.  At  this  point  the 
English  government  began  to  establish  sanitary  opera 
tions  ;  and  within  a  year  from  their  full  operation  the 
rate  was  reduced  to  25  per  1000  men.  Another  state 
ment  of  this  Crimean  mortality  is  as  follows  :  "  The 
percentage  of  deaths  (46.7  per  cent,  in  the  hospitals 
of  Scutari  and  Koulali,  in  February,  1855)  was  nearly 
as  great  as  the  percentage  of  recoveries.  But  that 
alarming  mortality  was  speedily  checked  by  specific 
sanitary  works,  so  that  the  death  rate  fell  to  two  or 
thres  per  cent,  in  the  same  hospitals  of  cases  treated." 
On  the  other  hand,  in  our  own  armies,  as  the  tabular 
statements  show,  the  loss  averaged  65  per  1000  men, 
the  result,  unquestionably,  of  the  promptness  with 
which  the  Commission  met  the  great  question  which 
was  presented  to  them  by  the  frightful  experiences  in 
the  last  great  European  war;  and  it  may  with  jus 
tice  claim  its  full  share  of  agency  in  this  successful 
result. 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  69 

Then  followed  the  work  of  General  Relief,  or  the 
system  of  current  supply  in  the  field.  Its  first  effort 
was  made  after  the  battle  of  Ball's  Bluff,  and  during 
the  winter  of  1861-2.  Its  history  embraces  every 
active  campaign  in  every  department,  and  its  opera 
tion  became  more  widely  known,  from  the  fact  that  it 
was  the  administration  of  the  Field  Relief,  which  in 
cluded  the  distribution  of  stores,  and,  to  some  extent, 
those  ministrations  of  relief  which  have  so  deeply 
touched  the  hearts  of  the  people.  Still  later  was 
organized  the  Special  Relief,  a  department  for  the  care 
of  discharged  soldiers,  though  other  work  was  con 
nected  with  it.  Homes,  lodges,  and  soldiers'  rests 
were  established  all  over  the  country ;  a  pension 
agency,  with  its  branches  in  every  large  city ;  a 
bureau  for  the  gratuitous  collection  of  back  pay  and 
the  settlement  of  deceased  soldiers'  accounts ;  and 
employment  agencies,  from  which  has  accrued  a  vast 
amount  of  good  to  soldiers  and  to  their  families  in 
thousands  of  instances. 

Next  in  order,  but  not  less  important,  was  the 
Auxiliary  Relief  Corps,  which,  combining  all  the 
essential  points  of  the  Field  Relief,  was  yet  a  step 
in  advance  of  that,  as  it  attempted  a  personal  ministry 
to  the  soldier,  in  addition  to  its  distribution  of  supplies. 


70  HOSPITAL   LIFE   IN   THE 

And  this  department  made  the  work  of  the  whole 
more  complete,  gave  it  more  significance  and  a  richer 
fruitfuluess  ;  for  it  had  in  it  an  abundant  wealth  of 
love.  Its  history,  if  brief,  is  yet  brilliant  with  hero 
ism,  and  deeply  impressive  with  the  records  of  suffer 
ing  and  death,  which  were  the  result  of  the  gigantic 
campaign  which  ended  around  Petersburg  and  Rich 
mond.  I  do  not  wish  to  claim  for  the  corps  more  than 
may  be  justly  awarded  by  an  impartial  judgment ;  but 
since  the  first  battles  of  the  war,  I  believe  that  no 
organization  has  rendered  more  effective  service  among 
sick  or  wounded  men  than  this  corps  has  since  its 
inception  and  operation  after  the  battles  of  the  Wilder 
ness.  In  the  winter  of  1863-4,  the  Hon.  Frank  B. 
Fay,  after  more  than  two  years  in  an  independent 
position  in  the  field,  saw  that  a  department  of  personal 
relief  could  be  ingrafted  upon  the  Sanitary  Commis 
sion  ;  that  it  would  become  one  of  its  most  vital 
branches,  and  would  vastly  alleviate  suffering  in  the 
new  spring  campaign  then  soon  to  be  opened.  Ac 
cordingly  an  Auxiliary  Relief  Corps  was  organized, 
and  began  its  operations  at  Fredericksburg  after  the 
battles  of  the  Wilderness  and  Spottsylvania  Court 
House.  Until  this  campaign  the  Sanitary  Commis 
sion  had  never  attempted  systematic  personal  service 


ARMY   OF    THE   POTOMAC.  71 

or  contact  with  the  soldier.     Its  work  in  the  field  had 
been  mainly  the  distribution  of  supplies  upon  requisi 
tions  from  the  surgeons.     Its  wagons  were  with  the 
various  divisions  of  the  army,  moving  with  its  move 
ments,  at  hand  always  upon  the  battle-field  to  make 
good    the    deficiency   of  medical    supplies    which    had 
fallen  short,  or  from  any  cause  were  not  within  reach 
of  the  surgeons.     But  no  systematic  personal  relief  of 
the    soldier  had   ever  been   attempted  until   Mr.  Fay 
organized  this  Auxiliary  Relief  Corps  to  do  such  work 
as  he  had  done   individually  from   the   earliest   cam 
paigns  of  the  war.      Its  organization  was   briefly  as 
follows  :    In  connection  with  each  corps  hospital  there 
was  a  relief  station,  having  from  four  to  eight  agents, 
under    the    direction    of  one    who    acted    as    captain. 
These  stations  consisted  of  a  store-tent,  a  sleeping  and 
mess-room,  a   tent  for  reading  and  writing;    and,  in 
one  instance,  a  school  and  a  chapel  were  established  for 
convalescent  soldiers,  which  proved  a  valuable  kind  of 
work  among  the  men,  who  showed  their  eagerness  for 
such  instruction  and  influence  by  prompt  and  faithful 
attendance.     The  barge,  or  central  storehouse  of  the 
Commission,  issued  supplies  daily  upon  requisitions  to 
each  of  these   stations.     The   chief  of  the   Auxiliary 
Corps  had  a  supervision  of  the  whole  work,  assigned 


72  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

new  men  to  their  posts,  issued  general  directions  for 
the  government  of  the  corps,  and,  occupying  an  ad 
ministrative  position,  kept  the  machinery  running,  by 
which  an  effective  service  might  be  rendered  to  the 
sick  or  wounded  who  were  placed  under  its  care.  The 
supplies  were  always  issued  under  the  direction  of 
the  surgeons,  but,  being  personally  distributed,  more 
surely  reached  individual  cases  than  if  given  to  de 
tailed  ward-masters  or  intrusted  to  hospital  stewards. 
This  personal  service  included  all  those  pleasant  com 
panionships  and  ministrations  which  cheered  the  lonely 
hospital  inmate,  a  daily  and  hourly  intercourse,  which 
entered  into  his  life  and  supplied  his  particular  need. 
Earnest  men  found  enough  to  do,  enough  for  heart  and 
hand,  enough  for  their  ingenuity,  enough  for  their 
patience,  and  enough  for  their  Christian  charity.  This 
contact  with  the  soldier  opened  up  a  great  wealth  and 
variety  of  experience.  Away  from  the  hospitals  it  is 
impossible  to  realize  how  these  electric  currents  run 
along  the  invisible  wires  of  sympathy ;  how  men  are 
drawn  together ;  how  close  and  tender  their  relations 
may  become  ;  how  such  service  enriches  the  man  who 
gives  and  the  man  who  receives  ;  and  how  very  often 
a  life  has  been  changed,  and  lifted  up,  and  renewed  by 
the  outflowing  of  the  heart,  and  the  personal  devotion 


ARMY   OF    THE   POTOMAC.  73 

of  a  stranger  to  one  who  needed  all  a  sister's  or  a 
mother's  care.  Personal  intercourse,  —  I  lay  stress 
upon  this,  —  intercourse  which  reached  down  to  every 
need  of  the  soldier ;  which  supplied  food  for  the  mind, 
for  the  soul,  and  for  the  body  ;  intercourse  which  was 
companionship  in  loneliness,  which  was  cheerfulness  in 
homesickness,  which  was  strength  in  weakness,  which 
was  spiritual  comfort  and  peace  in  any  dark  hour,  and 
which  could  light  the  way  by  its  heavenly  benedictions 
and  its  words  of  lofty  cheer  from  One  who  has  trod 
the  dark  valley,  and  who  has  illumined  it  for  all  time 
to  those  who  are  to  cross  it  in  the  light  of  his  sacred 
presence. 

I  know  the  value  of  this  service,  and  I  know  the 
appreciation  in  which  men  in  direst  suffering  have  held 
it.  The  rolls  of  the  Auxiliary  Corps  have  borne  the 
names  of  some  four  hundred  men  who  at  different 
times  entered  the  service.  But  mere  statistics  give  no 
idea  of  the  magnitude  of  the  work.  Over  20,000  at 
Fredericksburg,  over  2000  at  Port  Royal,  over  20,000 
at  White  House,  over  60,000  at  City  Point,  and  not 
less  than  20,000  at  Point  of  Rocks  —  more  than 
120,000  sick  and  wounded  men,  not  to  mention  the 
great  aggregate  of  those  soldiers  who  have  been  cared 
4 


74  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

for  at  the  feeding  stations,  which  number  is  probably 
not  less  than  one  fourth  as  many  more.  The  corps 
has  worked,  as  I  have  had  occasion  to  know,  until  its 
members  have  dropped  into  their  graves ;  signal  loy 
alty  to  the  service  has  kept  others  at  their  post  until 
they  have  been  overtaken  by  disease  ;  through  miasma, 
fever,  malaria,  and  contagion  they  have  labored  until 
many  have  ruined  their  constitutions,  and  have  re 
turned  enfeebled  to  their  homes  to  die,  and  all  for  the 
cause  which  they  loved  so  well.  Of  the  labors  of  Mr. 
Fay,  the  chief  of  the  corps,  it  would  be  hard  to  speak 
in  terms  of  too  much  praise  ;  and  the  only  difficulty  in 
making  reference  at  all  to  it  is  the  fear  that  any  fair 
statement  of  his  service  may  seem  to  be  too  much  the 
language  of  personal  admiration.  I  prefer,  rather,  to 
let  the  memory  of  all  his  wise  and  gentle  ministries,  his 
kindly  and  self-forgetting  service,  be  kept  fresh  in  one 
more  heart,  of  all  the  thousands  who  have  had  such 
good  reasons  for  treasuring  it.  The  untiring  fidelity 
with  which  his  labors  in  this  direction  of  personal 
relief  in  the  army  were  continued,  probably  had  no 
parallel  in  any  other  individual  case.  Before  he  en 
tered  the  Sanitary  Commission,  Mayor  Fay  was  known 
in  every  division  and  brigade  of  the  Army  of  tho 


ARMY  OF   THE   POTOMAC.  75 

Potomac;  and  soldiers  representing  every  state,  and 
probably  nearly  every  county  of  the  loyal  North,  have 
at  some  time  been  the  recipients  of  his  kindly  ministry 
or  his  generous  aid.  With  characteristic  foresight  he 
was  always  prepared  and  was  early  upon  the  field  of 
battle  with  his  stores,  replenished  for  the  emergency, 
and  with  all  these  blessed  appliances  of  healing  moved 
among  the  dead  and  wounded,  soothing  helpless,  suf 
fering,  and  bleeding  men,  parched  with  fever,  crazed 
with  thirst,  or  lying  neglected  in  the  last  agonies  of 
death.  And  this  service  was  performed  with  such 
humility  and  tenderness  of  spirit  as  is  rarely  combined 
with  the  self-contained  force  of  a  matured  and  disci 
plined  mind.  Notwithstanding  the  delicacy  of  his 
position,  and  the  jealousies  easily  awakened  by  those 
in  authority  who  were  scrupulous  of  official  dignity, 
and  careful  as  to  forms,  I  believe  that  in  no  instance 
did  he  conflict  with  any  ruling  medical  power,  or 
receive  anything  but  the  respect  and  cordial  good  will 
of  those  under  whom  he  labored. 

In  the  winter  of  1864  Mr.  Fay  retired  from  the 
Commission,  continuing,  however,  his  work  indepen 
dently  until  the  war  closed.  Mr.  A.  M.  Sperry  suc 
ceeded  him  as  chief  of  the  Auxiliary  Corps,  who, 


76  HOSPITAL   LIFE   IN   THE 

since  the  opening  of  the  war,  had  rendered  service  in 
some  form  in  the  good  cause.  His  experience  in  the 
work  of  personal  relief,  his  gentleness  of  spirit,  his 
tenderness  with  the  men,  his  warm,  earnest,  and  sym 
pathetic  nature,  pointed  to  him  as  the  man  of  all  others 
in  the  corps  to  take  the  vacant  place  ;  and  such  satis 
faction  did  he  give  to  those  in  authority,  that,  in  the 
concentration  of  the  armies  around  Washington,  after 
the  surrender  of  Lee  and  Johnson,  he  was  placed  in 
charge  of  the  "  Field  Relief"  of  this  vast  body  of  men 
—  a  responsibility  and  a  work  which  he  assumed  and 
carried  through  with  discretion  and  liberality. 

Among  other  arrangements  for  the  campaign  was 
the  preparation  by  Mr.  Fay,  at  the  expense  of  the 
Commission,  of  twelve  relief  chests,  which  were  care 
fully  provided  with  a  great  variety  of  stores  and 
utensils  for  hospital  use,  which  his  experience  had 
suggested,  and  which  were  packed  with  great  inge 
nuity  and  skill.  They  proved  invaluable  as  a  tem 
porary  supply.  "With  an  admirable  adjustment  of  the 
proportions  of  the  various  articles  needed,  it  will  be 
seen  that  hardly  anything  was  omitted  which  could 
contribute  to  a  soldier's  comfort  in  any  condition  in 
which  he  might  be  found. 


ARMY  OF    THE   POTOMAC. 


77 


Into  a  space  of  fourteen  cubic  feet  the  following 
articles  were  compressed,  the  list  having  been  made 
of  the  articles  as  they  were  unpacked  at  Fredericks- 
burg  :  — 


6  cans  of  tomatoes, 
6    "     of  chicken, 
6    "     of  mutton, 
12    "     of  milk, 
6  Ibs.  of  farina, 
3  Ibs.  of  meal, 
6  papers  of  broma, 
1  pail  of  butter  (0  Ibs.), 

1  can  of  crackers, 

2  Ibs.  coffee, 

1  Ib.  tea, 

3  Ibs.  sugar, 

4  bottles  whiskey, 

2  "       brandy, 
2      "       cider, 

2     "       sherry, 

1  bottle  cider  vinegar, 

1     «      raspberry  vinegar, 

1      "      cologne  water, 

1  "      bay  rum, 

2  bottles  Jamaica  ginger, 

1  bottle  brown  ginger, 

6  bottles  extract  of  almonds, 
4     «  "        of  vanilla, 

2  "  "        of  lemon, 
2      "  "        of  ink, 

4  papers  hops, 
2  dozen  lemons, 


1  bottle  mustard, 
25  nutmegs, 

1  bottle  Cayenne  pepper, 

2  bottles  pepper, 

1  box  salt, 
6  shirts, 

13  pairs  of  drawers, 
8  pair  socks. 

2  dozen  handkerchiefs 

5  arm  slings, 

4  pair  slippers, 

6  boxes  troches, 

6     "       Russia  salve, 

6  empty  vials, 
12  boxes  matches, 

1  paper  tacks, 

6  Ibs.  nails, 

1  ball  twine, 
A  lot  of  bandages, 
A  lot  of  comfort  bags, 
A  lot  of  night-caps, 

1  roll  of  oil  silk, 

2  pillow-sacks, 
2  padded  rings, 

1  piece  of  netting, 

2  bed-ticks, 

J  ream  of  paper, 
1  dozen  pen-holders, 


78 


HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN   THE 


I  dozen  pencils, 

1  box  pens, 
250  envelopes, 
12  cakes  of  soap, 

6  sponges, 
12  dozen  pipes, 

1  box  candles, 

1  roll  of  wire, 

1  box  of  combs, 

6  sheets  of  wrapping-paper, 

1  blacking-brush, 
12  papers  tobacco, 

I  dozen  towels, 

1  dish-pan  (3  gallons), 

1  baking-pan, 

1  dozen  deep  tin  plates, 

1     »«      tin  plates, 

1  tin  cup, 


6  teacups  and  saucers, 

2  tin  tumblers, 

2  tunnels, 

2  toasting-irons, 

2  basting-spoons, 
12  large  spoons, 
12  teaspoons, 

1  butcher's  knife, 

G  knives  and  forks, 

1  basin, 

1  handsaw, 

1  hatchet, 

1  hammer, 

2  pocket  looking-glasses, 
1  nutmeg-grater, 

1  brush  broom, 

1  corkscrew, 

2  candlesticks. 


This  brief  review  of  the  Sanitary  Commission  ex 
hibits  but  an  outline  of  its  organization.  Some  day 
its  history  will  be  written,  but  even  that  will  give  but 
a  faint  conception  of  the  magnitude  and  importance  of 
the  work  it  has  accomplished.  As  has  been  so  well 
said,  **  Never,  till  every  soldier  whose  last  moments  it 
has  soothed,  till  every  soldier  whose  flickering  life  it 
has  gently  steadied  into  continuance,  whose  waning 
reason  it  has  softly  lulled  into  quiet,  whose  chilled 
blood  it  has  warmed  into  healthful  play,  whose  failing 
frame  it  has  nourished  into  strength,  whose  fainting 


ARMY   OF    THE   POTOMAC.  79 

heart  it  has  comforted  with  sympathy,  —  never,  until 
every  soul  has  poured  out  its  story  of  gratitude  and 
thanksgiving  will  its  history  be  complete;  but  long 
before  that  time,  ever  since  its  helping  hand  was  first 
held  forth,  comes  the  blessed  voice,  '  Inasmuch  as  ye 
have  done  it  unto  the  least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye 
have  done  it  unto  me.' " 


80  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN    THF. 


CHAPTER    V. 

A    WOMAN'S    MINISTRY. 

The  Battle  of  Petersburg.  —  The  Colored  Hospital  at  City  Point.  — 
Hospital  Kitchens  in  Virginia  and  the  Crimea.  —  Her  Influence 
in  the  Wards. 

FTHHE  battle  of  Cold  Harbor  demonstrated  the  fact 
JL  that  Richmond  could  be  carried  from  that  line  only 
by  an  enormous  expenditure  of  life,  if  at  all ;  and  the 
army  was  rapidly  transferred  across  the  James,  mak 
ing  heavy  assaults  on  Petersburg  on  the  15th,  IGth, 
17th,  and  18th  of  June,  which  resulted  in  gaining 
important  ground,  but  failed  to  give  an  entrance  into 
the  city. 

Up  to  this  time  the  colored  troops  had  taken  but  a 
passive  part  in  the  campaign.  They  were  now  first 
brought  into  action  in  front  of  Petersburg,  when  the 
fighting  was  so  desperately  contested  that  many  thou 
sands  were  left  upon  the  field.  The  wounded  were 
brought  down  rapidly  to  City  Point,  where  a  tempo- 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  81 

rary  hospital  had  been  provided.  It  was,  however, 
in  no  other  sense  a  hospital,  than  that  it  was  a  depot 
for  wounded  men.  There  were  defective  management 
and  chaotic  confusion.  The  men  were  neglected,  the 
hospital  organization  was  imperfect,  and  the  mortality 
was  in  consequence  frightfully  large.  Their  condition 
was  horrible.  The  severity  of  the  campaign  in  a  ma 
larious  country  had  prostrated  many  with  fevers,  ami 
typhoid,  in  its  most  malignant  forms,  was  raging  with 
increasing  fatality. 

These  stories  of  suffering  reached  Miss  Gilson  at  a 
moment  when  the  previous  labors  of  the  campaign  had 
nearly  exhausted  her  strength  ;  but  her  duty  seemed 
plain.  There  were  no  volunteers  for  the  emergency, 
and  she  prepared  to  go.  Her  friends  declared  that  she 
could  not  survive  it ;  but  replying  that  she  could  not 
die  in  a  cause  more  sacred,  she  started  out  alone.  A 
hospital  had  to  be  created,  and  this  required  all  the 
tact,  finesse,  and  diplomacy  of  which  a  woman  is  capa 
ble.  Official  prejudice  and  professional  pride  had  to 
be  met  and  overcome.  A  new  policy  had  to  be  intro 
duced,  and  it  had  to  be  done  without  seeming  to 
interfere.  Her  doctrine  and  practice  always  were 
instant,  silent,  and  cheerful  obedience  to  medical  and 
disciplinary  orders,  without  any  qualification  whatever  ; 
4* 


HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN    THE 

and  by  this  she  overcame  the  natural  sensitiveness  of 
the  medical  authorities. 

A  hospital  kitchen  had  to   be  organized  upon   her 
method  of  special  diet ;  nurses  had  to  learn  her  way, 
and   be    educated   to  their  duties;    while   cleanliness, 
order,  system,  had  to  be  enforced  in  the  daily  routine. 
Moving  quietly  on  with  her  work  of  renovation,  she 
took    the    responsibility   of  all   changes    that   became 
necessary;   and  such  harmony  prevailed  in  the  camp 
ihat  her  policy  was  vindicated  as  time  rolled  on.     The 
rate  of  mortality  was  lessened,  and  the  hospital  was 
soon  considered  the  best  in  the  department.     This  was 
accomplished  by  a  tact  and  energy  which  sought  no 
praise,    but    modestly   veiled    themselves    behind   the 
orders  of  officials.     The  management  of  her  kitchen 
was  like  the  ticking  of  a  clock  —  regular   discipline, 
gentle  firmness,  and  sweet  temper  always.     The  diet 
for  the  men   was  changed  three  times  a  day ;  and  it 
was  her  aim  to  cater  as  far  as  possible  to  the  appetites 
of  individual  men.     Her  daily  rounds  in  the  wards 
brought    her    into   personal    intercourse    with    every 
patient,  and  she  knew  his  special  need.     At  one  time, 
when    nine    hundred   men   were    supplied    from    her 
kitchen    (with    seven    hundred    rations  daily),  I  took 
down  her  diet  list  for  one  dinner,  and  give  it   here 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  83 

in  a  note,*  to  show  the  variety  of  the  articles,  and 
her  careful  consideration  of  the  condition  of  separate 
men. 

The  following  passage  from  the  pen  of  Harriet 
Martineau,  in  regard  to  the  management  of  the  kitchen 
at  Scutari  by  Florence  Nightingale,  is  true  also  of 
those  organized  by  Miss  Gilson  in  Virginia.  The 
parallel  is  so  close,  and  the  illustration  of  the  daily 
administration  of  this  department  of  her  work  so  vivid, 
that,  if  the  circumstances  under  which  it  was  written 
were  not  known,  I  should  have  said  it  was  a  faithful 

*  List  of  rations  in  the  Colored  Hospital  at  City  Point,  being  a  dinner 
on  Wednesday,  April  25,  1805 :  — 

Roast  Beef,  Tomatoes, 

Shad,  Tea, 

Veal  Broth,  Coffee, 

Stewed  Oysters,  Toast, 

Beef  Tea,  Gruel, 

Mashed  Potatoes,  Scalded  Milk, 

Lemonade,  Crackers  and  Sherry  Cobbler, 

Apple  Jelly,  Roast  Apple. 

Farina  Pudding, 

Let  it  not  be  supposed  that  this  was  an  ordinary  hospital  diet.  Al 
though  such  a  list  was  furnished  at  this  time,  yet  it  was  only  possible 
while  the  hospital  had  an  ample  base,  like  City  Point.  The  armies, 
when  operating  at  a  distance,  could  give  but  two  or  three  articles;  and 
in  active  campaigns  these  were  furnished  with  great  irregularity. 


84  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN   THE 

picture  of  our  kitchen  in  the  Colored  Hospital  at  City 
Point :  — 

"  The  very  idea  of  that  kitchen  was  savory  in  the 
wards ;  for  out  of  it  came,  at  the  right  moment, 
arrowroot,  hot  and  of  the  pleasantest  consistence  ;  rice 
puddings,  neither  hard  on  the  one  hand  nor  clammy  on 
the  other ;  cool  lemonade  for  the  feverish  ;  cans  full 
of  hot  tea  for  the  weary,  and  good  coffee  for  the  faint. 
When  the  sinking  sufferer  was  lying  with  closed  eyes, 
too  feeble  to  make  moan  or  sign,  the  hospital  spoon 
was  put  between  his  lips,  with  the  mouthful  of 
strong  broth  or  hot  wine,  which  rallied  him  till  the 
watchful  nurse  came  round  again.  The  meat  from 
that  kitchen  was  tenderer  than  any  other,  the  beef  tea 
was  more  savory.  One  thing  that  came  out  of  it  was 
the  lesson  on  the  saving  of  good  cookery.  The  mere 
circumstance  of  the  boiling  water  being  really  boiling 
there,  made  a  difference  of  two  ounces  of  rice  in  every 
four  puddings,  and  of  more  than  half  the  arrowroot 
used.  The  same  quantity  of  arrowroot  which  made  a 
pint  thin  and  poor  in  the  general  kitchen,  made  two 
pints  thick  and  good  in  Miss  Nightingale's." 

Again,  in  contrasting  the  general  kitchen  with  the 
light  or  special  diet  prepared  for  the  sicker  men,  there 
was  all  the  difference  between  having  placed  before 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  85 

them  "  the  cold  mutton  chop  with  its  opaque  fat,  the 
beef  with  its  caked  gravy,  the  arrowroot  stiff  and 
glazed,  all  untouched,  as  might  be  seen  by  the  bed 
sides  in  the  afternoons,  while  the  patients  were  lying 
back,  sinking  for  want  of  support,"  and  seeing  "  the 
quick  and  quiet  nurses  enter  as  the  clock  struck, 
with  their  hot  water  tins,  hot  morsels  ready  cut,  bright 
knife,  and  fork,  and  spoon,  —  and  all  ready  for  instant 
eating !  " 

The  nurses  looked  for  Miss  Gilson's  word  of  praise, 
and  labored  for  it ;  and  she  had  only  to  suggest  a 
variety  in  the  decoration  of  the  tents  to  stimulate  a 
most  honorable  rivalry  among  them,  which  soon 
opened  a  wide  field  for  displaying  ingenuity  and  taste, 
so  that  not  only  was  its  standard  the  highest,  but  it 
was  the  most  cheerfully  picturesque  hospital  at  City 
Point. 

This  Colored  Hospital  service  was  one  of  those 
extraordinary  tasks,  out  of  the  ordinary  course  of 
army  hospital  discipline,  that  none  but  a  woman  could 
execute.  It  required  more  than  a  man's  power  of 
endurance,  for  men  fainted  and  fell  under  the  burden. 
It  required  a  woman's  discernment,  a  woman's  tender 
ness,  a  woman's  delicacy  and  tact ;  it  required  such 


86  HOSPITAL   LIFE   IN   THE 

nerve  and  moral  force,  and  such  executive  power,  as 
are  rarely  united  in  any  woman's  character.  The 
simple  grace  with  which  she  moved  about  the  hospital 
camps,  the  gentle  dignity  with  which  she  ministered  to 
the  suffering  about  her,  won  all  hearts.  As  she  passed 
through  the  wards  the  men  would  follow  her  with 
their  eyes,  attracted  by  the  grave  sweetness  of  her 
manner ;  and  when  she  stopped  by  some  bedside,  and 
laid  her  hand  upon  the  forehead  and  smoothed  the 
hair  of  a  soldier,  speaking  some  cheering,  pleasant 
word,  I  have  seen  the  tears  gather  in  his  eyes,  and  his 
lip  quiver,  as  he  tried  to  speak  or  to  touch  the  fold  of 
her  dress,  as  if  appealing  to  her  to  listen,  while  he 
opened  his  heart  about  the  mother,  wife,  or  sister  far 
away.  I  have  seen  her  in  her  sober  gray  flannel  gown, 
sitting  motionless  by  the  dim  candle-light,  —  which  was 
all  our  camp  could  afford,  —  with  her  eyes  open  and 
watchful,  and  her  hands  ever  ready  for  all  those  end 
less  wants  of  sickness  at  night,  especially  sickness  that 
may  be  tended  unto  death,  or  unto  the  awful  struggle 
between  life  and  death,  which  it  was  the  lot  of  nearly 
all  of  us  at  some  time  to  keep  watch  over  until  the 
danger  had  gone  by.  And  in  sadder  trials,  when  the 
life  of  a  soldier  whom  she  had  watched  and  ministered 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  87 

to  was  trembling  in  the  balance  between  earth  and 
heaven,  waiting  for  Him  to  make  all  things  new,  she 
has  seemed,  by  some  special  grace  of  the  spirit,  to 
reach  the  living  Christ,  and  draw  a  blessing  down  as 
the  shining  way  was  opened  to  the  tomb.  And  I  have 
seen  such  looks  of  gratitude  from  weary  eyes,  now 
brightened  by  visions  of  heavenly  glory,  the  last  of 
many  recognitions  of  her  ministry.  Absorbed  in  her 
work,  unconscious  of  the  spiritual  beauty  which  in 
vested  her  daily  life,  —  whether  in  her  kitchen,  in  the 
heat  and  overcrowding  incident  to  the  issues  of  a  large 
special  diet  list,  or  sitting  at  the  cot  of  some  poor 
lonely  soldier,  whispering  of  the  higher  realities  of 
another  world,  —  she  was  always  the  same  presence 
of  grace  and  love,  of  peace  and  benediction.  I  have 
been  with  her  in  the  wards  where  the  men  have  craved 
some  simple  religious  service,  • —  the  reading  of  Scrip 
ture,  the  repetition  of  a  psalm,  the  singing  of  a  hymn, 
or  the  offering  of  a  prayer,  —  and  invariably  the  men 
were  melted  to  tears  by  the  touching  simplicity  of  her 
eloquence. 

These  were  the  tokens  of  her  ministry  among  the 
sickest  men ;  but  it  was  not  here  alone  that  her 
influence  was  felt  in  the  hospital.  Was  there  jealousy 


88  HOSPITAL   LIFE    IN   THE 

in  the  kitchen,  her  quick  penetration  detected  the 
cause,  and  in  her  gentle  way  harmony  was  restored ; 
was  there  profanity  among  the  convalescents,  her  daily 
presence  and  kindly  admonition  or  reproof,  with  an 
occasional  glance  which  spoke  her  sorrow  for  such 
sin,  were  enough  to  check  the  evil ;  or  was  there  hard 
ship  or  discontent,  the  knowledge  that  she  was  sharing 
the  discomfort  too,  was  enough  to  compel  patient 
endurance  until  a  remedy  could  be  provided.  And  so, 
through  all  the  war,  from  the  seven  days'  conflict  upon 
the  Peninsula,  in  those  early  July  days  of  1862, 
through  the  campaigns  of  Antietam  and  Fredericks- 
burg,  of  Chancellors ville  and  Gettysburg,  and  after  the 
conflicts  of  the  Wilderness,  and  the  fierce  and  unde 
cided  battles  which  were  fought  for  the  possession  of 
Richmond  and  Petersburg,  in  1864  and  1865,  she  la 
bored  steadfastly  on  until  the  end.  Through  scorching 
heat  and  pinching  cold,  in  the  tent  or  upon  the  open 
field,  in  the  ambulance  or  on  the  saddle,  through  rain 
and  snow,  amid  unseen  perils  of  the  enemy,  under  fire 
upon  the  field,  or  in  the  more  insidious  dangers  of  con 
tagion,  she  worked  quietly  on,  doing  her  simple  part 
with  all  womanly  tact  and  skill,  until  now  the  hospital 
dress  is  laid  aside,  and  she  rests,  with  the  sense  of  a 


ARMY   OF    THE   POTOMAC.  89 

noble  work  done,  with  the  blessing  and  prayers  of  hun 
dreds  whose  sufferings  she  has  relieved  or  whose  livea 
she  has  saved,  being, 

"  In  the  great  history  of  the  land, 
A  noble  type  of  good 
Heroic  womanhood.** 


90  HOSPITAL   LIFE    IN    THE 


CHAPTER    VI. 

CITY  POINT  FIELD    HOSPITALS. 

City  Point.  —Medical  Director,  Dr.  Edward  B.  Dalton.  —  GeneraJ 
Grant.  —  Negroes' Evening  Service.  —  Sermon  of  a  Colored  Ser 
geant. 

CITY  POINT,  the  magnificent  base  of  our  armies, 
claims  a  word  of  notice.  Although  in  former 
days  it  must  have  been  sleepy  enough,  even  with  the 
commerce  of  Richmond  in  its  streets,  it  is  now  wide 
awake.  A  new  civilization  follows  on  in  the  track  of 
war.  If  any  of  the  F.  F.  V.'s  are  left  to  claim  their 
own,  they  would  never  know  it  to  be  the  same  place. 
Through  all  its  ceaseless  activity  I  never  saw  one  of 
the  old  inhabitants.  The  few  scattering  houses  were 
monopolized  by  clerks  of  commissaries  and  provost 
marshals  ;  new  buildings  filled  out  the  streets,  —  rough 
pine  shanties,  markets,  sutlers'  shops,  clothing  stores, 
ambrotype  saloons,  hotels,  and  chapels,  —  like  the 
mushroom  growth  of  Pike's  Peak  or  California.  The 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  91 

headquarters  of  General  Grant  were  on  a  bluff  at  the 
junction  of  the  James  and  the  Appomattox,  where 
these  rivers  open  out  like  a  lake,  while  beyond  were 
the  rich  abandoned  plantations,  and  the  low  fertile 
plains,  all  trampled  over  by  the  foot  of  war.  An  old 
villa,  with  its  wide  veranda,  all  green  and  beautiful 
amidst  its  clinging  vines,  served  as  the  office  for  Gen 
eral  Ingalls,  the  chief  quartermaster  of  the  army ; 
while  upon  the  lawn,  under  spreading  oaks,  were  plain 
log  huts,  the  camping  ground  of  the  lieutenant-gen 
eral.  Here,  puffing  his  cigar  with  that  comfortable 
repose  of  manner  which  many  have  mistaken  for  dul- 
ness,  with  nothing  but  his  three  stars  to  attract  the 
notice  of  a  stranger,  he  moved  about  his  headquarters, 
keeping  his  own  counsel,  developing  silently  his  own 
plans,  to  be  seen  at  any  time,  and  easy  to  be  ap 
proached  by  all. 

He  deals  with  all  questions  in  a  plain,  business-like 
manner,  with  the  least  show  of  feeling,  and  with  that 
plain  common  sense  which  decides  on  the  instant,  and 
then  dismisses  the  subject  from  the  mind.  His  un- 
demonstrativeness  had  nothing  repulsive  about  it,  for 
he  made  and  retained  many  strong  friends.  With 
none  of  that  showy  pretension  which  sometimes  wins 
the  personal  devotion  of  an  army,  General  Grant,  by 


92  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

the  kindness  and  consideration  with  which  he  listens 
to  the  humblest  soldier,  gained  that  enduring  con 
fidence  of  his  men  which  no  reverses  could  destroy. 

A  colored  sergeant  in  our  hospital,  whose  mother 
was  dying,  wished  a  furlough.  The  application,  if 
made  in  the  ordinary  routine,  would  be  too  late  ;  he 
therefore  went  to  headquarters,  and  found  the  general 
engaged  with  a  member  of  his  staff.  Turning  to  the 
soldier,  he  said,  "Well,  sergeant?" 

The  man  stated  his  case  briefly,  and  when  he 
finished,  the  general  looked  him  steadily  in  the  eye 
with  that  same  penetration  which  always  places  men 
just  where  they  belong,  and  immediately  directed  his 
adjutant-general  to  make  out  a  thirty  days'  furlough. 
When  it  was  ready  the  general  handed  it  to  the  ser 
geant,  took  his  hand,  and,  shaking  it,  kindly  said,  — 

"  Sergeant,  I  hope  you'll  find  your  mother  living 
when  you  get  home,"  which  could  bring  no  response 
from  the  poor  colored  soldier  except  a  choking  "God 
bless  you,  general." 

The  wharves  were  built  parallel  with  the  river  half 
a  mile  in  length,  and  with  storehouses  containing  the 
subsistence,  forage,  ammunition,  and  equipment  of  the 
army,  lere  were  steamers  and  vessels  of  every  de 
scription  discharging ;  the  freight  was  rapidly  loaded 


ARMY  OF   THE    POTOMAC,  93 

into  cars,  which  moved  out  in  long,  heavy  trains  to  the 
front,  and  there  was  the  greatest  activity  everywhere. 

The  road  to  the  hospitals  led  us  by  the  Bull  Ring, 
the  picturesque  camp  of  the  Fifteenth  Regiment  of  New 
York  Engineers,  the  wagon  train  camps,  corrals  for 
mules  and  horses,  long  stables  of  brushwood,  thatched 
with  boughs  of  evergreen,  groups  of  low  huts  for  the 
wagoners,  while  cavalrymen  were  clanking  along  on 
their  jaded  beasts ;  ambulances,  army  teams,  and  ar 
tillery,  half  obscured  in  suffocating  clouds  of  dust 
(which,  in  this  dry  summer,  was  nearly  twelve  inches 
deep),  completed  the  picture. 

Dr.  Edward  B.  Dalton,  the  Medical  Director,  held 
his  position  since  the  commencement  of  the  campaign 
in  May.  At  Fredericksburg,  at  White  House,  and 
through  all  the  terrible  emergencies  of  that  experi 
ence,  he  had  displayed  eminent  administrative  ability  ; 
and  this  was  now  exercised  at  City  Point.  With 
every  facility  furnished  by  a  magnificent  army  base, 
and  after  the  experience  of  four  years,  he  so  adjusted 
the  complicated  machinery  of  hospital  administration 
as  to  leave  his  mark  upon  the  field  hospital  system, 
which,  in  the  previous  history  of  the  war,  had  never 
been  brought  to  such  perfection.  His  wise  forethought 
and  skill,  his  delicate  tact  in  quietly  overcoming  diffi- 


94  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

calties,  his  sound  judgment  in  matters  of  detail,  his 
decision  and  firmness  of  purpose,  his  scientific  accom 
plishments,  his  genial  and  kindly  manners,  won  for 
him  the  confidence  of  his  superior  officers,  and  the 
cordial  good-will  of  all  who  were  brought  into  official 
relations  with  him. 

The  Depot  Field  Hospitals  were  situated  a  mile 
from  the  landing,  upon  a  wide  plateau,  extending  back 
from  the  Appomattox,  and  were  divided  into  the  Sec 
ond,  Fifth,  Sixth,  Ninth,  and  Cavalry  Corps  Hospitals, 
representing  each  corps  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac. 
A  branch  railroad,  running  directly  through  the  centre 
of  the  hospital  grounds,  was  constructed  from  the 
main  military  line,  in  order  that  the  sick  or  wounded 
sent  in  from  the  division  hospitals  at  the  front  might 
avoid  ambulance  transportation,  and  thus  be  taken 
directly  from  the  cars  and  laid  upon  their  hospital 
beds. 

Connected  with  each  hospital  were  a  dispensary,  a 
commissary  storehouse,  general  and  special  diet  kitch 
ens,  together  with  the  convalescents'  dining-room.  The 
Sanitary  Commission  also  established  a  station  in  each 
corps.  These  stations  were  supplied  by  daily  requisi 
tions  from  the  barge,  the  central  storehouse,  and  the 
headquarters  of  the  Commission  at  this  point.  Each 


ARMY  OF   THE   POTOMAC.  95 

hospital  had  accommodations  for  from  fifteen  hundred 
to  two  thousand  men.  Through  the  summer  months  it 
was  a  vast  encampment  of  tents,  which  were  changed 
as  winter  approached,  to  log  barracks  with  boarded 
roofs,  an  even  temperature  being  more  easily  main 
tained  in  them  than  under  canvas  coverings.  Every 
fanciful  decoration  which  the  ingenuity  of  nurses  or 
ward-masters  could  suggest  was  carried  out,  Some 
were  of  most  unique  design,  executed  with  taste  and 
skill ;  festoons  of  many-colored  papers  covering  the 
rough  walls,  arched  over  the  beds,  or  hanging  grace 
fully  over  windows  and  doors,  so  that  there  was  an  air 
of  bright  and  cheerful  cleanliness,  which  was  always 
refreshing. 

The  chaplain  of  the  hospital  was  Orderly  Sergeant 
Morgan,  of  the  Forty-third  United  States  colored 
troops,  an  eloquent  preacher,  a  man  of  most  earnest 
and  devout  spirit,  and  of  unquestioned  ability. 

Just  before  evening  service,  Juba,  with  a  face  all 
aglow  with  expectation,  came  scratching  at  the  tent. 
Entering,  with  hat  in  hand,  he  said,  "  Thar's  a  new 
preacher  in  de  camp,  and  Ts  jes'  studyin'  if  I  can  get 
to  go  dis  evenin'?"  So  Juba  went.  Following  on,  I 
passed  long  lines  of  blackened  tents,  cheerless  and 
cold;  grim  suffering  was  everywhere;  the  curling 


96  HOSPITAL    LIFE   AV    THE 

smoke  was  issuing  from  the  kitchens ;  the  guard 
were  patrolling  on  their  lonely  beat ;  nurses  were 
moving  about  in  their  monotonous  toil,  while  the 
pattering  rain  and  the  soggy  Virginia  mud  sent 
through  me  a  chilly  homesickness  and  sense  of  des 
olation  not  easily  described.  Groping  through  the 
darkness,  yet  guided  by  the  low,  plaintive  air  of  their 
opening  hymn,  I  reached  their  rude  hut  of  logs,  used 
as  the  wash-house  of  the  hospital,  as  well  as  for  their 
place  of  worship.  On  such  occasions  this  was  always 
crowded  with  its  dusky  congregation,  gathered  as  it 
was  within  the  limits  of  the  colored  hospital.  The 
building  was  about  fifty  feet  in  length,  the  crevices 
cemented  with  mud,  the  roof  being  made  of  canvas, 
and  the  interior  left  rough  and  cheerless.  Lanterns 
were  hanging  from  the  poles  which  supported  the 
structure,  and  the  dim  candle-light  produced  a  ghastly 
glare,  which  made  it  difficult  to  recognize  faces,  how 
ever  near.  Humble  they  were  and  in  earnest,  moved 
by  the  simplest  impulse  of  their  hearts,  and  bound 
together  in  their  devotions  by  one  common  bond  —  the 
love  of  a  common  Father.  The  congregation  were 
standing,  singing  a  hymn,  after  which  the  preacher 
read  a  few  passages  of  Scripture  and  gave  out  another 
hymn,  — 


ARMY   OF    THE   POTOMAC.  97 

"  O  for  a  closer  walk  with  God, 
A  calm  and  heavenly  frame,"  — 

which  was  read  with  deep  feeling,  and  even  with  start 
ling  effect.  His  prayer  was  fervent  and  appropriate, 
moving  these  simple  hearts,  and  calling  from  them 
such  ejaculations  as  "  Dis  lowly  heart  am  waitin'  for 
you.  Lord,"  and  "  Yes,  Lord,  do  come  now  an'  visit 
dis  poor  soul,"  and  the  like.  The  text  was,  "  And 
bearing  His  cross,  he  went  forth  into  a  place  called  the 
place  of  a  skull."  The  sermon  was  prefaced  by  the 
remark,  that  we  all  had  life  before  us,  with  all  its 
burdens  and  sorrows  ;  and  that  we  had  come  there  to 
be  strengthened  for  duty.  We  should,  therefore,  open 
our  hearts  to  all  the  best  influences  of  the  place,  and 
then  we  should  go  forth  ready  for  the  battle  like 
"  giants  refreshed  with  new  wine."  And,  if  any  were 
in  any  trouble  or  sorrow,  or  if  there  were  heavy 
burdens  resting  upon  the  heart,  if  we  went  to  Jesus 
and  laid  them  at  his  feet,  and  were  willing  to  take  his 
light  and  easy  yoke,  they  would  melt  away  like  dew 
before  the  effulgent  brightness  of  the  sun.  The  ser 
mon  was  an  appeal  to  his  hearers  to  place  themselves 
under  the  influence  of  Christ.  Pie  pictured  the  suffer 
ings  of  the  Saviour,  showing  how  meekly,  yet  with 
what  patience  and  strength,  they  were  borne  ;  but  he 
5 


98  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN   THE 

dwelt  upon  the  idea  that  divine  Justice  demanded  the 
sacrifice.  "  Approaching  Golgotha,  bearing  not  only 
the  cross,  but  the  weight  of  your  sins  and  miue 
upon  his  overburdened  heart,  he  was  fresh  from  the 
humiliations  of  the  judgment  hall.  There  mocked, 
with  the  purple  robe,  scourged  with  the  whip,  his  ten 
der  temples  pierced  with  thorns,  with  the  blood  ana 
sweat  upon  his  brows,  all  along  the  way  he  suffered 
the  derision  of  the  people,  who,  with  cries  of  '  Crucify 
him,  crucify  him  ! '  were  pressing  him  on  to  his  exe 
cution.  Has  he  robbed  a  widow  or  an  orphan?  Has 
he  any  guile  upon  his  lips?  Has  he  taken  gold  or 
silver,  or  are  his  hands  dripping  with  blood,  that  he  is 
dragged  thus  to  a  Place  of  a  Skull?  Ah,  no.  He  is 
the  pure,  the  meek,  the  guileless  one ;  but  it  must 
needs  be  that  one  must  die.  The  wrath  waxed  hotter 
and  hotter,  that  it  might  not  be  appeased  by  any 
ransom  less  than  this  very  Son  of  God ;  and  so  the 
blazing  sword  leaps  from  the  scabbard  of  justice,  and 
the  doom  is  sealed.  As  he  struggles  up  to  the  summit, 
he  faints  and  falls  under  the  weight  of  the  cross. 
There,  upon  the  hill-top,  stands  Justice  waiting  to 
complete  the  sacrifice  which  four  thousand  years  ago 
was  appointed  for  this  hour.  She  waits  to  set  her  seal 
upon  the  atonement.  The  time  is  expiring,  while  yet 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  99 

the  overburdened  one  is  staggering  up  the  hill ;  but  he 
reaches  it  not  yet.  Is  the  hour,  then,  to  pass,  and  the 
world  to  be  forever  lost?  Where,  then,  she  asks,  is  He 
who  was  to  offer  himself  a  ransom?  The  hour  will 
strike,  and  the  doom  will  be  fixed  forever.  O  God, 
what  an  hour !  Millions  stand  in  dread  expectancy. 
Hell  yawns  before  them,  and  the  heat  of  eternal  fires 
is  around  them,  and  the  appealing  cry  goes  up  to 
heaven  that  they  may  yet  be  saved.  With  painful 
feet  and  a  weary  heart  he  was  slowly  moving  on  to  the 
sacrifice.  He  was  treading  the  wine-press  alone,  but 
it  was  not  of  Paul,  or  James,  or  John  that  he  was 
thinking  there.  It  was  of  the  world,  of  you  and  me 
in  our  low  estate  and  need.  As  the  moment  ap 
proaches,  Calvary  is  reached.  He  is  seized  and  laid 
upon  the  cross.  Sharp  nails  are  driven  by  merciless 
blows  through  his  hands  and  feet.  The  cross  is  lifted 
and  plunged  into  its  place  ;  and  while  darkness  covers 
the  face  of  the  earth,  and  the  veil  of  the  temple  is 
rent,  and  women  fall  weeping  at  his  feet,  the  work  is 
done.  He  has  not  flinched  nor  murmured  against  the 
inexorable  decree.  He  simply  prays  his  Father  to  for 
give  his  murderers,  while  the  mercy-seat  is  sprinkled 
with  his  blood.  The  debt  was  cancelled  at  last ;  he 
cried,  '  It  is  finished,'  and  our  salvation  was  secured. 


100  HOSPITAL    LIFE  IN   THE 

Seventy-two  Roman  soldiers  guarded  the  cross,  pass 
ing  and  repassing,  wagging  their  heads,  and  saying, 
4  We  have  him  now.  Even  his  God  cannot  save 
him.'  The  Pharisee  rubbed  his  hands,  chuckling  in 
derision,  and  devils  enjoyed  the  triumph.  But  wait, 
ye  powers  of  hell !  Your  doom  is  written  in  charac 
ters  of  living  fire !  In  the  dark  chambers  of  the 
night,  for  three  days,  he  waited  and  slept.  On  the 
resurrection  morning,  Gabriel  and  St.  Michael  speak ; 
the  bonds  of  the  grave  are  broken ;  the  sleeping  Jesus 
rises  ;  archangels  move  out  in  majesty  and  glory  ;  and 
through  the  trackless  ether,  quicker  than  the  light 
ning's  flash,  the  risen  Lord  ascends  upon  his  blazing 
chariot,  and  rests  upon  the  bosom  of  his  God." 

The  effect  of  this  rude  eloquence  upon  these  poor, 
ignorant  creatures  was  a  most  curious  exhibition  of 
human  nature.  The  preacher  then  made  an  appeal  to 
them  to  follow  this  long-suffering  Saviour ;  to  give  up 
their  old  ways  of  life,  their  profanity,  their  indiffer 
ence,  their  sins,  and  to  become  truly  Christian  men. 
They  wept  and  clapped  their  hands,  shouting,  "Amen, 
amen  !  "  "  I'll  ship  for  glory  !  "  u  Dat's  so  !  "  "  Yes, 
Lord,  send  a  witness  !  "  &c.  They  swayed  to  and  fro, 
calling  upon  the  Lord  Jesus  to  forgive  them,  to  wash 
them  clean,  amid  groans  and  cries  for  help. 


ARMY   OF    THE   POTOMAC.  101 

One  old  man  rose  and  said,  "  While  de  bredren  an' 
sisters  are  singin'  'An'  must  dis  body  die?'  let  all 
who  lub  de  Lord,  an*  would  wear  de  golden  crown,  an' 
be  landed  safe  on  Canaan's  shore  in  de  last  great  an' 
terrible  day,  come  up  to  de  altar  an'  help  us  beg  for 
mercy  on  dare  poor  souls." 

Then  followed  a  scene  which  baffles  description. 
Numbers  of  men  and  women,  "  convinced  of  sin," 
went  forward,  knelt  down,  and  amid  groanings  and 
wails  of  agony,  prayed  to  be  saved  from  the  bottomless 
pit,  and  from  the  fire  which  is  never  quenched  ;  while 
we  were  hoping  that  the  new  birth,  if  such  it  really 
was,  might  prove  a  constantly  renewing  influence  with 
the  life  of  every  day. 


102  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN    THIS 


CHAPTER    VII. 

TEE    SILENT   SORROWS    AT  HOME. 

The  Village  Post-office.  —  Soldier's  Letter.  — The  unknown  Dead 
—  The  lonely  Italian,  Giovanni  Quaglia.  —  Italian  Letters. 

THE  news  of  battle,  it  comes  swift  and  sure.  For 
four  long  years  it  has  flashed  over  the  wires, 
bringing  suspense  and  desolation  to  every  hamlet  and 
village  in  the  land.  For  days  there  is  an  unnatural 
quiet  through  the  household,  which  goes  on  with  the 
silent  routine,  under  the  painful  pressure  of  uncer 
tainty,  until  at  last  a  message  or  a  letter  tells  the 
whole. 

As  I  have  stood  in  a  country  village  post-office, 
watching  the  tragedies  pictured  on  the  faces  awaiting 
there  the  opening  of  the  mail,  I  have  seen  strong  men 
come  in  and  take  their  "  soldier's  letter,"  tear  off,  with 
a  trembling  hand,  the  envelope,  and  wail  out,  "  He  is 
dead!  he  is  dead  !  How  can  I  tell  his  mother?  "  I 
have  seen  two  women  enter,  —  one  sad,  and  care-worn, 


ARMY  OF    THE   POTOMAC.  103 

and  old,  leaning  upon  a  younger,  a  daughter,  perhaps. 
They  receive  the  letter  and  pass  out.  A  glance  has 
told  them  it  is  a  stranger's  hand,  while  a  wild  fear 
sweeps  over  their  hearts,  which  they  restrain  till  they 
are  quite  out  of  sight.  Then  the  letter  is  opened. 
"  May  God  help  thee  and  me,  Jane  !  "  is  all  she  says, 
while  they  hurry  on  to  their  lowly  dwelling,  where  they 
may  hide  their  grief,  where  there  need  be  no  conceal 
ment  of  its  cause,  and  no  restraint  upon  its  utterance. 
"  An  only  son  of  his  mother,  and  she  a  widow." 

Here  is  another  mourner,  with  a  shadow  not  less 
dark  upon  her  life,  who  must  struggle  on  alone,  —  she 
who  had  hoped  to  be  a  wife,  but  now  not  less  a 
widow.  And  this  same  story  has  been  repeated  in 
how  many  forms,  in  how  many  homes,  all  over  the 
land !  With  the  witness  of  such  griefs  as  these,  while 
striving  for  these  alleviations  of  suffering  in  the  field, 
there  was  the  thought  of  those  at  home,  who,  through 
long  and  weary  months,  have  waited  for  tidings  of 
those  who  have  died,  hoping  for  some  explanation  of 
the  interrupted  letters,  and  the  silence  which  to  many, 
alas  !  is  the  silence  of  the  grave.  And  yet,  in  thou 
sands  of  cases,  this  explanation  never  comes  ;  and  the 
suspense  is  a  living  grief,  a  lasting  sorrow.  Men  died 
every  day,  and  were  carried  out  to  the  dead-house  for 


104  HOSPITAL   LIFE   IN    THE 

burial,  who  left  no  trace  of  friends,  hardly  a  name  to 
be  recorded  on  a  head-board.  Look  into  that  part  of 
any  soldiers'  burial-field  which  is  devoted  to  the  "  un 
known,"  and  see  the  proportion  buried  there.  Turn, 
then,  to  the  lists  of  names  recorded,  and  ask  of  their 
families  if  they  have  received  the  notice  of  their  death. 
This  office  was  left  to  any  comrade  who  might  know 
the  friends,  to  any  humane  person  who  was  interested 
in  the  case  ;  but  it  was  not  provided  for  as  a  part  of 
the  regular  routine  of  hospital  duty.  The  constant 
sight  of  the  dead  carried  out  for  burial  deeply  touched 
me,  and  suggested  a  want,  which  might  be  easily  sup 
plied,  of  a  complete  list  of  the  patients,  with  the 
address  of  their  nearest  relative.  I  found  that  nearly 
all  the  men  had  close  family  ties.  Their  hearts  were 
as  tender,  their  sensibilities  as  keen,  their  emotions  as 
deep  as  ours.  They  were  quickly  moved  by  old  mem 
ories  of  home,  of  father  or  mother,  of  wife  or  chil 
dren  ;  and  our  appealing  to  those  affections,  aside  from 
its  moral  effect,  had  a  good  sanitary  influence,  the  men 
being  grateful  for  such  appeals,  and  responding  heartily 
to  them.  In  our  hospital  such  a  list  was  attempted, 
and  its  value  was  every  day  illustrated  by  the  touching 
letters  of  thankfulness  received  from  homes  which 
were  clouded  indeed  by  bereavement,  which  but  for 


ARMY    OF    THE   POTOMAC.  105 

such  intelligence  would  have  remained  in  that  darker 
sorrow  of  uncertainty  until  they  should  meet  their 
missing  ones  face  to  face  in  the  other  world.  Mothers 
wrote  of  their  "  undying  gratitude "  for  the  simple 
announcement  of  the  fact  that  their  sons  were  in  a 
hospital ;  or  they  wrote,  "  By  the  love  you  bear  your 
own  mother,  give  me  some  tidings  of  my  boy.  Is  he 
alive?  Where  can  I  see  him?  Is  he  dead?  When 
and  how  ?  " 

In  Washington  the  Sanitary  Commission  had  a  Di 
rectory,  which  was  as  complete  a  record  as  possible 
of  names  in  the  Washington  hospitals.  Mr.  Bowne, 
the  chief  of  this  bureau,  writes  thus  in  illustration  of 
the  value  of  these  records  :  — 

"  Of  the  many  scenes  witnessed  in  the  bureau,  I  can 
only  mention  a  few  without  attempting  a  description. 
A  mother  has  not  heard  anything  of  her  son  since  the 
last  battle ;  she  hopes  he  is  safe,  but  would  like  to  be 
assured.  There  is  no  escape  ;  she  must  be  told  that 
he  has. fallen  upon  the  '  Federal  altar  ; '  an  agony  of 
tears  bursts  forth,  which  seems  as  if  it  would  never 
cease.  Another,  less  excitable,  docs  not  tire  of  telling 
4  how  good  a  boy  he  was.'  '  No  mother  ever  had  such 
a  son  as  he,'  sobs  a  third.  A  father  presents  himself, — 
a  strong  man,  and  yet  young  in  years,  —  to  receive  the 
5* 


106  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

same  announcement,  and  sinks,  with  audible  grief,  into 
a  chair.  Another,  with  pale  face  and  tremulous  voice, 
anxious  to  know,  yet  dreading  to  hear,  is  told  that  his 
boy  is  in  the  hospital  a  short  distance  off;  he  grasps 
the  hand  with  both  of  his,  while  tears  run  down  his 
cheeks,  and  without  uttering  another  word  leaves  the 
room.  c  It  is  very  hard,  my  friend,'  was  said  to  one 
mute  with  grief,  '  but  you  are  not  alone.'  '  I  know  it, 
sir,'  was  the  prompt  reply,  '  but  he  was  the  only  one  I 
had.' 

"  A  woman  of  more  than  ordinary  intelligence  and 
appearance,  with  almost  breathless  voice,  said, '  I  want 
to  find  my  husband ;  I  have  not  heard  from  him  for 
several  months.  I  have  written  to  the  officers  of  his 
regiment,  but  do  not  get  any  reply ;  can  you  tell  me 
where  he  is  ? ' 

"  '  Will  you  please  to  give  me  his  name,  and  num 
ber  of  his  regiment  ? '  '  O,  yes,  sir.'  '  You  will  find 
him  at  Lincoln  Hospital ;  the  city  cars  pass  near 
the  building,  and  the  conductor  will  point  it  out  to 
you.'  A  momentary  shade  of  incredulity  is  percep 
tible  ;  then  turning  her  full,  deep  eyes,  swollen  with 
emotion,  she  gives  one  look,  —  a  full  reward  for  a  month 
of  labor,  —  and  in  an  instant  is  in  the  street.  .  .  . 
Thus  the  varied  scene  goes  on.  One  inquirer  leaves 


ARMY   OF    THE   POTOMAC.  107 

the  room  grateful,  buoyant,  happy,  to  be  followed  by 
another  equally  grateful,  who  will  '  tread  softly '  the 
remainder  of  his  days,  for  the  '  light  of  his  dwelling 
has  gone  out/  As  each  departs,  another  figure  is 
added  to  the  list  of  4  inquiries  and  answers/  and  the 
seemingly  monotonous  work  of  the  bureau  is  resumed." 
This  Directory,  however,  did  not  come  into  practical 
operation  in  the  field  hospitals,  and  it  was  the  want  of 
it  which  I  attempted  to  supply.  A  man  with  whom  I 
had  but  just  been  talking,  and  whose  address  was 
upon  my  list,  passed  out  of  his  tent  to  dinner.  In  the 
street  of  the  hospital  he  fell  dead.  Nobody  knew  to 
what  ward  he  belonged  ;  he  was  "  unknown,"  a  soldier 
just  arrived.  My  book  was  called  for,  and  there  was 
the  whole  story.  The  poor  fellow  was  laid  upon  a 
stretcher,  and  was  carried  to  the  tent  for  the  dead ; 
and  when  I  went  to  see  him,  he  was  cold.  I  wrote  to 
his  wife,  enclosing  a  hundred  dollar  bill  found  in  his 
pocket-book ;  and  had  it  not  been  for  this  list,  there 
would  have  been  another  "  Hannah  at  the  window," 
waiting,  watching  through  long  years  for  the  loved  one 
whom  she  would  never  see  again.  In  this  case  she 
was  suffering  for  want  of  food ;  her  children  were  shoe 
less,  and  thinly  clad ;  and  the  money,  whioh  would 
otherwise  have  remained  unclaimed  in  me  adjutant- 


108  -HOSPITAL   LIFE   IN   THE 

general's  office,  met  her  want,  and  perhaps  saved  her 
little  family  from  cold  and  starvation. 

Even  a  more  striking  illustration  of  the  value  of 
such  a  list  was  shown  in  a  case  which  we  had  watched 
for  many  days  with  the  tenderest  interest  —  that  of  a 
lonely  Italian  soldier,  who  had  strayed  from  his  regi 
ment,  sick  and  helpless,  seeking  refuge  in  our  colored 
wards.  He  could  not  understand  a  word  of  English  ; 

O  / 

and  when  we  saw  him,  besides  a  wasting  consumption, 
he  had  the  gnawing  of  homesickness,  with  which  he 
was  passing  rapidly  away.  We  had  been  ministering 
to  his  wants  with  all  the  care  and  sympathy  which  his 
case  awakened ;  and  by  French,  and  such  few  Italian 
words  as  we  had  at  command,  we  tried  to  talk  with 
him.  As  we  spoke  of  our  cold  climate,  and  contrasted 
it  with  his  own  mild  and  beautiful  Italy,  his  eyes 
brightened,  his  face  seemed  radiant,  and,  with  his 
arms  extended  heavenward,  he  gasped  out,  "  L* Italic 
est  paradise  I "  He  seemed  to  see  his  own  smiling 
Pavia  and  Vigevano,  to  feel  the  soft  breath  of  the 
Mediterranean,  and  to  bring  up  all  the  sunny  memories 
of  his  far-off  home.  He  sank  back  and  smiled,  and  I 
placed  my  hand  upon  his  heart  to  feel  its  throbbing. 
His  skin  was  white  as  an  infant's  ;  and  on  my  remark 
ing  this  to  him,  he  said,  with  a  sad  smile,  "  Oui,  oui. 


ARMY  OF   THE   POTOMAC.  109 

llanc  ! "  and  then,  pointing  to  the  group  of  colored 
soldiers  gathered  about  his  bed,  he  tried  to  say,  "  Yet 
all  these  are  black."  After  much  effort  we  found  in 
a  neighboring  hospital  an  Italian  who  could  act  as 
our  interpreter.  There  was  no  time  to  lose,  for  his 
strength  was  failing  fast.  We  were  eager  to  learn  his 
story,  which  proved  to  be  the  old  tale  of  deception  and 
fraud,  of  the  cruelties  of  the  bounty  agents,  and  of 
sufferings  the  sequel  of  which  would  soon  be  death. 
He  had  been  in  the  country  but  a  few  days,  when, 
he  knew  not  how,  he  found  himself  clothed  in  a  blue 
uniform,  and  regularly  enlisted  in  the  military  service 
of  the  government.  A  man  of  delicate  frame,  he  had 
simply  broken  down  from  the  severities  and  exposures 
of  the  campaign,  and  here  he  was  to  die.  His  mind 
reverted  to  his  distant  home,  and  he  spoke  with  deep 
emotion  of  his  "  poor  old  father  and  mother,"  and  his 
brothers,  and  of  what  a  tragedy  their  separation  had 
proved  ;  of  his  dear  old  cathedral  of  Vigevano,  and  of 
his  employments,  which  he  should  never  enter  upon 
again.  He  knew  he  was  going  to  die.  He  felt  that 
the  sands  of  life  were  fast  running  out,  and  that  in  a 
few  hours  all  would  be  changed.  Yet  he  did  not 
shrink  from  death  ;  he  welcomed  it  rather,  for  what 
was  life  to  him?  It  was  only  privation,  hardship, 


110  HOSPITAL   LIFE   IN    THE 

loneliness,  and  suffering.  He  had  no  influence  to  pro 
cure  his  discharge  ;  he  could  make  no  appeal  for  jus 
tice  ;  his  comrades  were  strangers,  and  spoke  a  strange 
tongue,  of  which  he  knew  not  a  word ;  he  had  no 
companion  to  whom  he  could  look  for  sympathy,  or  to 
whom  he  could  tell  his  story  of  wrong ;  indeed,  he 
could  hardly  make  himself  understood  by  these  new 
friends,  who  were  trying  to  comfort  and  cheer  his  last 
hours.  But  one  boon  was  granted  him  —  that  of  hear 
ing  his  native  language  from  the  lips  of  a  countryman. 
At  first  he  seemed  bewildered ;  then,  realizing  the 
whole,  he  was  overjoyed  that  such  a  blessing  should 
have  been  his  before  he  died.  His  deep,  spiritual  eyes 
opened,  expressing  indescribable  content  and  peace, 
though  there  was  still  a  restlessness  and  anxiety,  of 
which,  for  a  long  time,  we  could  not  guess  the  cause. 
He  was  sinking  rapidly.  A  weight  was  upon  his 
mind,  and  he  had  not  the  words  or  the  wish  to  reveal 
his  trouble.  At  length  I  asked  if  he  had  money  to 
dispose  of,  assuring  him  that  if  he  had,  he  might,  with 
perfect  confidence,  intrust  it  to  us  to  be  disposed  of  as 
he  might  desire.  This  was  his  secret ;  and,  as  he 
gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  he  unstrapped  his  belt,  which 
contained,  as  it  proved,  eight  hundred  and  fifty  dollars. 
His  pulse  was  growing  faint,  and  his  mind  seemed  to 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  Ill 

wander ;  but  by  stimulants  he  was  so  far  restored  as  to 
understand  our  questions  regarding  his  family,  their 
names    and   residence.       He    tried   to    write,   but  the 
pencil  trembled  in  his  hand ;  and  through  his  lips,  now 
growing  white,  I  could  just  catch  the  letters  as  he 
spelled  them  out.     There  was  clearly  written  out  at 
last  his  own  name,  "  Giovanni  Quaglia,"  and  that  of 
his  brother,  "  Giuseppe  Quaglia,  St.  Andrews  Street, 
Vigevano,  Department  of  Pavia,  Province   of   Vige- 
vano,  Italy."     The  money  was  to  be  sent  to  him,  to  be 
divided  according  to  his  discretion.     The  dying  man 
seemed  now  at  ease,  and  I  left  him  that  he  might  rest. 
As  we  withdrew,  he  held  my  hand  firmly  in  both  of 
his,   trying   in  this  way  to  express  the  gratitude  he 
could  not  utter.     The  poor  fellow  never  spoke  again, 
for,  before  the  dawn,  he  had  gone  up  into  the  light  of 
the  eternal  morning.     His  body  was  removed  to  the 
tent  for  the  reception  of  the  dead  ;  and  at  four  o'clock 
of  the  following  afternoon,  two  stretchers,  upon  which 
were  borne  the  body  of  a  colored  soldier  who  had  died 
in  the  cars  on  the  way  to  the  hospital,  and  this  poor, 
friendless  Italian,   were   carried  out  to  their  graves. 
There  were  two  mourners  walking  on  either  side  —  a 
sad  funeral  procession.     We  performed  a  short  service 
for  the  poor  unknown  negro,  whom  perhaps  nobody 


112  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN   THE 

was  to  mourn,  and  for  this  stranger  from  another  land. 
Soldiers  gathered  about  the  graves,  standing  rever 
ently  with  uncovered  heads ;  and  while  the  earth 
trembled  with  the  tremendous  firing  all  about  us,  we 
committed  these  two  soldiers  of  a  holy  cause  to  their 
soldiers'  graves.  This  was  my  Sunday's  service. 

Letters  were  at  once  despatched  to  Italy.  Succeed 
ing  steamers  brought  answers,  clothed  in  the  warm, 
fervent  language  of  that  demonstrative  people,  and 
containing  most  touching  evidences  of  gratitude  for 
our  care.  Both  the  originals  and  the  translations  are 
given,  to  complete  the  illustration  of  the  value  of  our 
"  book  of  records  "  to  a  family  in  another  land,  as  well 
as  to  show  the  tone  of  earnest  feeling  with  which  they 
responded  to  a  kind  office,  which  there  was  no  soldier 
in  the  army  too  humble  to  have  received  at  our  hands. 
It  will  also  be  seen  that  the  last  letter,  dated  June  17, 
1865,  contains  an  acknowledgment  of  a  remittance  of 
2952  francs,  the  proceeds  of  the  money  committed  to 
our  care. 

*  VIGEVANO,  January  7,  1865. 

MOST  WORTHY  SIR:  I  have  not  words  to  express 
my  thanks  for  your  kind  and  charitable  assistance  to 

*  For  the  original  letters  see  pp.  115-118. 


ARjIY   OF    THE   POTOMAC.  113 

my  poor  brother  Giovanni.  I  know  that  you  are 
blest  in  your  vast  country ;  but  gratitude  is  not  want 
ing  to  you  also  in  Italy. 

With  respect  to  the  execution  of  the  last  wish  of  my 
poor  brother,  I  send  you  enclosed  a  certificate  of  my 
fraternity,  and  a  power  of  attorney,  in  order  that  (after 
deducting  the  expenses  for  converting  into  funds  avail 
able  to  us  the  effects  left  by  my  brother,  —  governing 
yourself,  in  fine,  according  to  the  dictates  of  your 
fatherly  heart),  you  may  cause  a  draft  for  the  same  to 
be  sent  to  my  address.  I  would  beg,  if  possible,  also, 
to  have  some  article  belonging  to  my  brother,  that  I 
might  be  the  possessor  of  a  last  memorial  of  him.  It 
will  also  be  conferring  an  additional  favor  upon  me  if 
you  would  be  pleased  to  inform  me  of  what  malady  my 
brother  died,  and  how  long  he  was  sick.  I  should 
further  be  doubly  grateful  if  the  prayers  of  the  Church 
shall  be  offered  up  for  the  deceased  Giovanni. 

May  Heaven  grant  you  every  blessing,  as  also  the 
very  worthy  Mr.  C.  F.  B. 

Please  to  accept  my  sincere  salutations  and  thanks, 
with  those  of  my  aged  father.  We  should  both  of  us 
esteem  ourselves  fortunate  if  we  could  in  any  way  be 
of  service  to  you. 

Believe  me,  your  devoted  servant, 

GIUSEPPE  QUAGLIA. 


114  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

VIGEVANO,  April  4,   1865. 

ESTEEMED  SIR  :  I  have  received  your  very  kind 
letter  of  the  28th  of  February,  together  with  your 
likenesses.  You  could  not  have  bestowed  upon  me  a 
more  precious  gift  than  the  portraitures  of  those  who 
watched  over  the  last  moments  of  my  poor  brother.  I 
assure  you  that  I  shall  never  part  with  them,  and  that 
while  I  live  they  will  be  ever  before  me. 

With  respect  to  the  money  you  have  in  keeping, 
even  as  you  have  acted  as  a  second  father  to  my 
poor  brother,  I  beg  you  to  continue  to  be  so  also  to 
me.  You  will  please,  therefore,  to  do  entirely  as  you 
think  best  for  my  interest,  and  I  leave  you  fully  em 
powered  to  remit  the  amount  whenever  you  think  fit. 

It  will  always  be  to  me  a  happy  circumstance  to 
receive  tidings  from  you,  so  fatherly  do  I  consider  the 
interest  you  have  manifested  towards  me ;  and  I  would 
that  Heaven  would  vouchsafe  to  me  the  privilege  of 
being  in  some  little  way  useful  to  you ;  it  would  be  a 
great  consolation  to  me. 

Accept,  in  the  mean  time,  my  most  sincere  salute 
tions,  and  believe  me, 

Most  respectfully,  yours, 

GIUSEPPE  QUAGLIA. 


ARMY  OP   THE   POTOMAC.  115 

VIGEVANO,  June  17,  1865. 

MOST  ESTEEMED  SIR:  I  have  received  your  kind 
letter  of  the  16th  of  May,  with  a  bill  of  exchange  for 
2952  francs,  payable  16th  July ;  and  I  will  advise 
you  immediately  on  receiving  the  amount.  In  the 
mean  time  I  have  not  words  sufficient  to  thank  you 
for  so  many  favors  conferred  upon  me  ;  but  I  shall 
have  your  person  in  perpetual  remembrance,  as  I  also 
beg  you  to  keep  me  in  your  memory.  An$  if  I  could 
by  any  possible  event  be  useful  to  you  in  these  parts,  I 
should  deem  myself  most  fortunate.  Whenever  you 
should  think  proper  to  favor  me  with  tidings  of  your 
self,  they  would  be  most  gratefully  received. 

Accept,  meanwhile,  my  most  cordial  salutations,  and 
believe  me, 

Sincerely  yours, 

GIUSEPPE  QUAGLIA. 


VIGEVANO,  li  7  Gennajo,  1865. 

DEGNISSIMO  SIGNORE  :  Non  6  parole  sufficient!  per  rin- 
graziarla  della  caritatevole  assistenza  prestata  al  povero  mio 
fratello  Giovanni.  So  che  la  Sa.  Va.  e  benedetta  nel  suo 
vasto  paese  ;  ma  non  le  manca  la  riconoscenza  anche  in  Italia. 

Rapporto  all'  esecuzione  dell'  ultima  volontiji  del  povero  mio 


11G  HOSPITAL    LIFE    IX   THE 

fratello,  le  acchmdo  un  attestato  di  fraternita,  ed  una  procura 
che  la  Sa.  Va.  (dedotto  le  spese  anche  per  convertire  in 
assegni  valevoli  fra  noi  il  valore  lasciato  dal  mio  fratello 
Giovanni,  regolandosi  insomma  col  suo  cuore  di  padre), 
ritiri  cio  di  cui  se  tratta ;  ed  in  seguito  me  lo  far£  avere  al 
mio  indirizzo.  Lo  pregherei,  se  fosse  possibile,  di  avere  un 
qualche  oggetto  che  appartenesse  al  mio  fratello,  onde  avere 
un'  ultima  sua  memoria  come  pure  mi  sara  un  nuovo  favore 
se  la  Sa.  Va.  vorra  degnarsi  di  sapermi  dire  di  quale  malatia 
e  morto  il  mio  fratello,  e  quanto  tempo  stette  ammalato.  Le 
saro  doppiamente  grato,  se  fara  dire  una  prece  al  Giovanni 
estinto. 

II  Cielo  le  accordi  del  bene,  come  all'  ottimo  signore  Carlo 
Federico  Bradford  ;  ed  accetta  i  miei  sinceri  saluti  e  ringra- 
ziamente,  anche  al  nome  del  mio  vecchio  padre,  che  si  do- 
manderessimo  fortunati  se  entrambi  potessimo  essergli  utili 
in  qualche  cosa ;  e  mi  creda, 

Suo  devotissimo  servo, 

GIUSEPPE  QUAGLIA. 


VIGEVANO,  4  Aprile,   1865. 

DEGNISSIMO  SIGNORE  :  O  ricevuto  la  gentilissima  sua 
lettera  delli  28  Febbrajo,  unitamente  al  suo  ritrato  e  quello 
della  gentile  Signora  Gilson.  Regalo  maggiore  non  mi 
poteva  fare  che  quello  d'  aver  1'  imagine  di  due  cuori  cosi 
generosi,  i  quali  anno  assistito  anche  negli  ultimi  momenti 


ARMY  OF   THE   POTOMAC.  117 

del  povero  mio  fratello ;  e  le  assicuro  che  non  li  abbando- 
nero  mai,  e  sin  che  vivro,  staranno  sempre  a  me  dinanzi. 

Riguardo  la  somma  che  tiene  in  deposito,  siccome  Lei  a 
fatto  da  secondo  padre  al  mio  povero  fratello,  quindi  lo 
prego  di  essere  egualmente  verso  di  me  ;  perci6  faccia  Lei 
come  meglio  crede  onde  fare  al  mio  interesse,  e  cosi  lo  lascio 
in  facolta  di  spedirmeli  quando  crede  opportune. 

Mi  sara  poi  sempre  in  grande  favore  onde  qual  volta  avro 
il  piacere  di  ricevere  delle  sue  notizie,  mentre  io  la  stimo 
come  mio  padre,  e  desidererei  che  il  Cielo  mi  volesse  accor- 
dare  la  grazia  di  poter  essergli  utile  in  qualche  cosa,  che 
sarebbe  per  me  1'  unica  consolazione. 

Aggradisca  intanto  i  miei  piti  sinceri  saluti,  e  mi  creda  suo 

umilissimo  servo, 

GIUSEPPE  QUAGLIA. 

P.  S.  Voglia  degnarsi  di  fargli  tanti  saluti  alia  gentile 
Signora  Gilson. 


VIGEVANO,  17  Gugno,  1865. 

PREGIATISSIMO  SIGNORE:  O  ricevuto  la  gentile  vostra 
lettera  delli  16  Maggio  con  una  cambiale  di  fr:  2952  pagabili 
16  Luglio,  che  subito  vi  render6  avvisato  quando  avr6  incas- 
sato  T  amontare.  Intanto  non  6  parole  per  ringraziarvi  dei 
tanti  favori  che  mi  avete  fatto  ;  ma  avr6  eterna  memoria 
della  vostra  persona  come  pure  vi  prego  voi  pure  di  avermi 
presente  :  e  se  per  caso  vi  occorresse  d  abbisognarvi  qualche 


118  HOSPITAL   LIFE    IN    THE 

cosa  da  queste  parti,  ricordatevi  di  me,  che  potendo  esservi 
utile  in  qualche  cosa  mi  domanderei  fortunate.  Quando 
credete,  favoritemi  di  vostre  notizie  che  mi  saranno  sempre 
care. 

Accettate  intanto  i  miei  cordiali  saluti  e  credetemi  sempre, 
Vostro  afFmo.  amico  e  servo, 

GIUSEPPE  QUAGLIA. 


ARMY   OF    THE    POTOMAC.  119 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

THE    BULL-KING. 

The  Picturesque  in  the  Hospital.  —  Scenes  in  the  "Wagon  Train 
Hospital.  —  The  Sixth  Corps.  —  Their  Bivouac.  —  The  Bull- 
Ring.  —  Sufferings  of  the  Prisoners.  — Their  Destitution.  — Their 
Wants  supplied.  —  Men  under  Sentence  of  Death. 

THE  high  standard  which  the  hospital  had  attained 
made  it  necessary  to  keep  on  with  the  work  of 
renovation  and  improvement.  As  to  one  street  of  our 
camp  there  was  nothing  to  desire.  The  tents  were 
clean  and  cheerful ;  the  beds  all  neat  and  in  order ; 
the  tent  poles  decorated  with  fanciful  paper,  or  with 
colored  cloth  ;  festoons  of  red,  white,  and  blue  ;  sprigs 
of  evergreen,  cedar,  or  holly,  with  the  little  bright 
berries,  pinned  to  the  tent  cloth  over  each  bed,  or  set 
upon  the  little  tables  standing  at  each  bedside.  Then 
the  cups  and  plates  were  scoured,  and  the  knives,  and 
forks,  and  spoons  were  as  bright  as  so  many  silver 
dollars  fresh  from  the  mint ;  the  stoves  were  black  as 


120  HOSPITAL   LIFE   IN   THE 

polish  could  make  them ;  and  all  was  so  fresh  and 
sweet,  that  one  would  be  satisfied  himself  to  be  sick 
there.  Each  nurse  taxed  his  ingenuity  and  taste  to 
invent  some  new  thing  to  please  the  eye  ;  and  if  a 
stray  "Harper's"  found  its  way  into  camp,  it  was 
soon  appropriated,  and  the  pictures  pasted  into  a 
frame,  which  hung  conspicuously  before  the  men.  All 
sorts  of  little  devices  like  these  added  cheerfulness  to 
our  camp,  and  a  home-like  feeling  to  the  wards. 

The  camp  was  in  the  form  of  a  hollow  square  ;  the 
light-diet  kitchen,  the  dispensary,  the  surgeon's  quar 
ters,  the  sanitary  supply  store,  and  the  steward's  tent, 
were  all  in  the  centre,  and  the  hospital  wards  were  all 
round  in  the  three  streets  of  the  square.  One  of  these 
streets  had  been  below  the  mark.  The  nurses  had 
been  reminded  of  this,  but  had  neglected  their  duty. 
They  were  called  up,  ordered  to  "  fall  in "  in  two 
ranks,  which  led  them  to  fear  that  they  were  to  be 
sent  to  their  regiments.  In  a  few  words  the  law  was 
laid  down  ;  they  were  marched  through  some  of  the 
tents  on  the  other  side  of  the  camp,  and  two  days 
were  allowed  before  inspection.  In  the  mean  time 
the  woods  were  scoured  for  green  branches  and  holly 
sprigs,  and  before  the  appointed  day  the  tents  were 


ARMY   OF    THE   POTOMAC.  121 

ready  for  the  examination.  Thus  our  whole  hospital 
was  brought  up  to  its  high  standard. 

Every  day  we  were  at  the  bedside  of  the  dying, 
trying  to  understand  their  last  messages  to  wives  or 
mothers,  trying  to  relieve  the  last  pangs  of  those 
whose  spirits  seemed  to  be  just  fluttering  between 
earth  and  heaven.  One  old  negro  in  a  tent  next  to 
ours  had  tried  to  tell  me  what  he  wished  me  to  write 
to  his  family,  and  I  had  left  him  after  administering  a 
little  wine.  Within  ten  minutes  he  sent  for  me  again, 
seeming  brighter  than  when  I  had  left  him.  He  had 
been  thinking  of  all  the  kindness  "  which  that  little 
lady  and  you,  sir,  had  shown  me,  a  poor  Btranger  in 
this  lonely  country,"  and  the  tears  dropped  one  by  one 
down  upon  his  coarse  beard  as  he  tried  to  express  his 
gratitude.  He  told  me  to  write  to  his  wife  that  "  he 
was  happy,  for  he  had  found  friends,  and  he  felt  that 
the  good  Father  was  very  near  ;  "  and  so  the  old  man 
sank  back  upon  his  pillow  to  die. 

Half  a  mile  from  our  camp  Was  a  wretched  group 
of  tents,  called  "  the  hospital  of  the  wagon  train."  It 
was  indeed  no  hospital,  but  a  place  where  some  thirty 
sick  men  were  lying  utterly  neglected,  with  little  med 
ical  attendance,  and  but  two  nurses,  with  no  comforts, 
needing  everything.  Their  more  pressing  wants  were 
6 


122  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

supplied.  Being  civilians,  and  employed  only  as  la 
borers,  they  were  not  entitled  to  any  medical  care 
except  that  which  they  could  secure  by  payment,  and 
they  had  no  claim  upon  the  medical  supplies.  The 
men  were  sick  and  destitute,  /and  we  arranged  for 
those  who  needed  care  the  most  to  send  daily  to  our 
kitchen  for  their  diet,  and  promised  that  they  should 
receive  such  other  attentions  as  we  could  give  them. 
They  were  rough,  but  intelligent  and  kindly ;  Maine 
men,  hardy  pioneers,  who  had,  through  exposure  and 
by  working  in  the  water,  got  inflammatory  rheuma 
tism,  which  had  caused  them  the  most  acute  suffering. 
They  were  nearly  all  in  this  condition.  One  old, 
gray-headed  man,  lying  on  a  rough  board  bunk,  quiet 
and  patient  as  a  child,  with  that  pale,  suffering  look, 
and  those  deep,  sunken  eyes,  which  mark  those  who 
have  been  wasting  away  with  pain,  said,  when  we 
gave  him  of  our  stores,  and  laid  by  his  side  one  thing 
after  another  which  he  needed  most,  "  We  have  these 
societies  in  our  town  for  the  soldiers,  but  I  never 
began  to  realize  the  value  of  them  till  now.  Mind, 
I'm  none  of  your  flatterers.  I'm  an  old  man,  have 
had  a  hard  lot  in  life  ;  I've  got  five  sons  in  the  army 
—  my  all ;  and  if  I  never  see  them  again,  I  give  them 
to  the  cause.  You  don't  know  how  your  coming  here 


ARMY   OF    THE   POTOMAC.  123 

kind  o'  cheers  me  up."  We  knew  it  did,  for  we  saw 
the  tears  gathering  in  his  eyes ;  and  when  I  thought 
of  those  five  sons,  I  could  not  but  recall  the  beautiful 
letter  of  consolation  then  just  written  by  Abraham 
Lincoln  to  the  poor  widow  who  had  buried  her  five 
boys,  when  he  spoke  of  the  feeling  of  "solemn  pride" 
which  was  her  precious  privilege,  now  that  she  had 
laid  such  a  sacrifice  upon  the  altar  of  her  country.  I 
could  not  but  feel  that  the  same  was  applicable  to  him 
also,  —  that  "  solemn  pride." 

As  we  returned,  we  went  down  to  the  bank  of  the 

river,    the   point  of  junction   of  the   James   and   the 

Appomattox,  which  opened  wide,  and  beautiful,  and 

calm,  like  the  Bay  of  Naples.     The  rivers,  blending 

into  one,  were  like  a  mirror.     There  was   a  lovely 

purple  haze  over  the  whole  country,  and  the  trees  and 

undergrowth  on  the  edge  of  the  low  shores  on  either 

side  were  dimly  reflected  in  the  unruffled  water.     A 

tow-boat,  puffing  white  steam  in  great  clouds,  which 

curled   behind   it,  added  to  the  picture,  and  was  the 

only  thing  to  cause  a  ripple  upon  the  surface ;  and  we 

looked,  trying  to   realize  that  this  was  the  base  of 

operations   of   two   gigantic   armies,  all   so   still   and 

peaceful  in  the  foreground,  and  all   so  fiercely  enei'- 

getic  in  the  rear. 


124  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

The  Sixth  Corps,  after  its  splendid  service  under 
Sheridan  in  the  Valley  of  the  Shenandoah,  was  trans 
ferred  back  to  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  early  in 
December,  1864.  The  First  Division  reached  our 
camp  about  noon,  and  bivouacked.  Our  hospital  din 
ner  had  been  served,  and  we  were  uncertain  what 
disposition  to  make  of  the  remaining  pans  of  turkey, 
when  we  thought  of  these  men  who  had  halted  for  an 
hour's  rest.  Their  haversacks  were  empty ;  but  fires 
were  soon  blazing,  coffee  was  soon  boiling,  and  each 
group  was  intent  on  the  preparation  of  their  scanty 
meal.  It  was  a  picture,  but  I  cannot  paint  it.  The 
corps  was  covered  with  the  dust  and  heat  of  a  great 
campaign.  They  had  been  marching  and  fighting 
with  but  little  intermission  for  three  months.  They 
were  rough  and  rusty ;  their  uniforms  were  torn, 
threadbare,  and  spattered  with  mud ;  and  the  men 
were  rude,  grim,  and  much  in  earnest.  They  had 
an  air  of  the  unconquerable  about  them,  a  steady  self- 
reliance,  and  perfect  enthusiasm  for  their  leader  and 
their  work,  which  was  verified  afterwards  in  their 
characteristic  and  successful  assault  upon  the  enemy's 
works.  They  gathered  about  their  fires,  hungry, 
thirsty,  grimy ;  their  knapsacks  were  thrown  off,  their 
arms  were  stacked,  and  their  burdens  lightened  for  an 


ARMY   OF   THE    POTOMAC.  125 

hour.  Men  were  bringing  wood  and  water,  while  the 
coffee  was  boiling  upon  the  coals,  waiting  for  the 
hard  tack,  which  with  it  was  to  be  their  only  meal. 
The  fellows  lined  the  road,  asleep,  on  the  rampage,  on 
the  lounge,  and  nibbling  their  scanty  rations.  We 
started  out  with  the  remnant  of  our  hospital  dinner. 
Turkey  did  not  often  grace  the  camp,  and  the  boys 
needed  no  other  invitation  than  our  approach.  We 
were  instantly  surrounded,  and  for  a  moment  were 
ready  to  think  that  these  men  were  wolves  in  human 
shape.  The  circle  grew  larger  and  larger.  New 
heads  and  faces,  peering  one  above  another,  were 
added  to  the  crowd  with  every  moment,  while  before 
me  were  a  hundred  cups  blackened  by  many  a  long 
campaign,  with  a  hundred  voices,  each  demanding  his 
share  of  what  wre  had.  Antony  was  standing  near  me 
within  the  circle,  holding  high  above  his  head  this 
other  pan  of  turkey.  A  hundred  hands  were  raised, 
hands  of  every  shape  and  shade,  all  extended  to 
scramble  for  a  bone,  each  finger  on  the  stretch,  expres 
sive  of  eagerness  and  want.  In  an  instant  the  pan 
was  emptied,  each  soldier,  with  a  hand  full  of  turkey 
soup,  or  of  bare  turkey  bones,  working  his  way  out  of 
the  inner  circle,  with  a  face  of  such  jolly  satisfaction 
that  we  were  repaid  for  all  our  trouble  in  their  behalf 


126  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

Roughs  and  desperadoes  are  found  in  all  armies,, 
Under  a  system  of  bounties  the  dregs  of  Europe  were 
landed  on  our  shores,  and  soon  found  their  way  into 
the  ranks.  The  business  of  recruiting  was  monopo 
lized  by  men  whose  profession  was  gambling  or  thiev 
ing,  or  who  were  adepts  in  the  art  of  murder ;  and 
the  result  was  desertion  and  bounty-jumping,  and  a 
vast  accumulation  of  greater  or  lesser  crimes,  which 
demanded  sharp  and  instant  retribution.  As  a  place 
of  confinement  at  City  Point  the  Prisoners'  Barracks 
were  established,  known  as  the  Bull-Ring  of  the  army. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  exaggerate  the  painful  im 
pressions  which  the  first  view  of  this  den  left  upon  my 
mind.  Indeed,  I  have  no  colors  dark  enough  to  sup 
ply  all  the  shading  to  that  terrible  picture  ;  nor  have  I 
the  words  in  which  to  describe  it,  or  the  life  within  it, 
as  presented  to  me  on  my  brief  visit  of  inspection. 

The  pen  was  composed  of  three  large  barracks  of 
one  story,  which  opened  each  into  separate  enclosures 
or  yards,  surrounded  by  high  wooden  fences,  strictly 
guarded  by  sentries  day  and  night,  while  this  was  all 
enclosed  in  a  single  railing,  between  which  and  the 
high  fence  a  patrol  guard  was  kept  constantly  in 
motion.  The  inner  sentry  stood  guard  upon  a  raised 
platform  built  out  from  the  fence,  which  gave  him  a 


ARMY  OF   THE   POTOMAC.  12* 

view  of  the  three  pens  and  of  every  prisoner  in  them. 
At  the  entrance  was  a  horizontal  bar  of  wood,  sup 
ported   by  two   upright  posts,  from  which   were   sus 
pended  short  ropes  used  for  tying  up  men  by  the  hands 
or  thumbs  as  a  punishment.     As  I  entered  the  yard, 
four  men   were    standing,  some   on    tiptoe,    tied   with 
their  hands  above  their  heads,  without  overcoats,  shiv 
ering  in   a  sharp  December  wind,  their  hands  black 
with  the  cold.     To  illustrate  the  class  of  men   thus 
punished :  one  of  these  four,  a  man  of  fierce  and  des 
perate  spirit,  who  had  threatened  the  lives  of  some  of 
his  comrades,  and  upon  whom  already  rested  a  charge 
of  murder,  refused  to  give  his  name  and  regiment  to 
the  court  martial  convened  to  try  him.     This  blocked 
the  trial,  as  no  witnesses  could  be  summoned  ;   and,  as 
he  was  obstinate  in  his  reticence,  he  was  ordered  to  be 
tied  up  every  day  until  he  would  t -.11  the  organization 
to  which  he  belonged.     For  six  days  he  endured  this 
torture,  which  at  any  moment  he  could  have  relieved ; 
and,  as  I  afterwards  learned,  when  he  could  bear  it  no 
longer,  and  told  his  name  and  regiment,  his  spirit  was 
so  utterly  crushed  and  broken  that  he  became  as  quiet, 
inoffensive,  and  obedient  as  a  child.     The  court  mar 
tial  dealt,  probably,  with  every  variety  of  charge,  from 
petty  thefts  and  disrespect  to  officers,  up  to  desertions 


128  HOSPITAL    LIFE    IN    THE 

to  the  enemy,  and  captures  of  these  same  deserters 
with  arms  in  their  hands.  But,  innocent  or  guilty, 
held  for  the  highest  crimes  known  to  military  law,  or 
for  the  common  delinquencies  or  felonies  of  a  soldier, 
all  were  confined  alike  and  together,  awaiting  trial. 
At  this  time  there  were  about  four  hundred  men  im 
prisoned.  Their  condition  was  horrible.  They  were 
destitute  of  clothing ;  and,  up  to  January,  without 
stoves,  their  sufferings  were  as  needless  as  they  were 
intolerable.  It  was  my  fortune  to  obtain  admission, 
writh  another  member  of  the  Sanitary  Commission,  to 
estimate  their  wants,  to  look  into  their  condition,  and 
to  suggest  such  remedies,  or  provide  such  alleviations, 
as  we  might  have  it  in  our  power  to  offer  —  a  privi 
lege  not  before  extended  to  a  civilian.  With  a  large 
quantity  of  woollen  shirts  and  drawers,  stockings  and 
towels,  paper  and  envelopes,  we  entered  the  enclosure. 
It  was  a  pen  cf  filth  and  vermin.  Previous  to  this 
visit,  tickets  for  clothing  had  been  issued  to  those  who 
were  most  in  need.  We  stood  upon  a  raised  platform, 
looking  down  upon  the  yard.  The  officer  in  charge 
ordered  the  men  out  of  the  barracks,  and  they  formed 
in  line.  I  shall  never  lose  the  impression  of  those 
laces  as  they  were  turned  up,  each  eager  for  some 
thing,  where  they  all  needed  so  much.  The  men  came 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  129 

shuffling  out  of  the  building,  with  that  listless  air 
which  showed  how  indifferent  they  were  to  their  fate  : 
couples  chained  together  ;  men  half  naked  came  alone  ; 
clad  in  every  variety  of  garments,  —  Federal  uniforms 
and  Confederate,  —  the  blue,  and  the  yellowish-gray, 
all  in  rags  ;  some  with  a  meal-sack  over  their  shoul 
ders,  some  with  a  gunny-bag  for  a  jacket,  others  with 
their  cotton  drawers,  and  with  feet  tied  up  in  bagging, 
to  serve  as  shoes  and  stockings ;  without  hats,  with 
uncombed  hair,  ragged,  filthy,  all  alive  with  vermin. 
Here  were  hardened  criminals,  —  the  outlaws  of  so 
ciety, —  reckless  and  defiant,  many  of  them  under  sen 
tence  of  death,  yet  unconcerned  about  their  fate,  and 
careless  whether  the  execution  were  ordered  for  to 
morrow,  or  were  indefinitely  postponed.  There  were 
sixty  or  seventy  others,  who  knew  that  after  trial  their 
crimes  would  be  expiated  on  the  scaffold,  or  that  they 
would  be  "  shot  to  death  by  musketry,"  yet  accepted 
their  lot  with  a  profane  bravado  which  made  one 
shudder. 

The  line  was  formed,  and  our  distribution  began. 
One  by  one  they  came  forward.  To  the  first,  "  Un 
button  that  blouse,  and  let  us  see  what  you  require." 
It  was  stripped  open,  and  he  was  naked  to  the  waist, 
"  A  shirt  for  you."  The  next  man,  with  gunny-clotb 
6* 


130  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN    THE 

tied  over  his  feet,  sore  and  bleeding  with  the  cold, 
"  A  pair  of  stockings."  The  next,  comparatively  com 
fortable.  "  Only  a  towel."  The  next,  with  only  a  thin 
pair  of  drawers,  and  no  pantaloons,  "  A  pair  of  draw 
ers."  And  so,  one  by  one,  the  men  pressed  forward, 
—  some  with  meal-sacks  for  a  blanket,  others  without 
even  this  protection,  breaking  the  line  in  their  eager 
ness  to  receive  something  to  keep  them  warm  ;  a  shiv 
ering,  suffering  crowd,  pinched  by  the  frosty  morning 
air  ;  their  hands,  and  feet,  and  bodies  blue  with  cold. 
They  moved  about  the  yard,  if  for  nothing  more  than 
to  keep  up  a  brisk  circulation  ;  men  of  all  ages,  from 
the  gray-haired  to  the  youngest  lads,  and  some  so 
utterly  broken  in  spirit  that  they  had  evidently  re 
signed  themselves  to  whatever  might  be  in  store  for 
them.  One  man,  who  previously  had  only  the  thinnest 
clothing,  without  shirt  or  drawers,  sat  at  night  in  his 
bunk  with  his  hands  folded  up  under  his  jacket,  which 
he  tightened  about  him,  crying  by  the  hour  together. 
There  was  one  lad,  of  only  twelve  years,  in  this  pen  — 
a  bright  little  fellow,  quick  in  his  movements,  the  only 
really  cheerful  one  in  all  that  crowd  of  men.  As  I 
asked  the  lieutenant  why  a  boy  was  placed  with  such 
desperadoes,  the  lad  looked  up  and  said,  with  the  most 
perfect  nonchalance,  "  I  relieved  my  captain  of  some 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  131 

of  his  greenbacks  ;  he  had  too  many,  and  I  had  none  ; 
he  didn't  know  how  to  use  them,  and  I  thought  I 
would  spend  them  for  him."  The  boy  was  demoral 
ized  ;  but  when  I  remonstrated  with  the  officer  against 
confining  such  a  lad  with  such  associates,  he  said, 
what  I  had  already  been  convinced  was  true,  that  he 
was  as  bad  as  any  of  the  men,  and  could  not  be  worse. 
I  replied  that  he  might  be  made  better,  and  ought  to  be 
removed.  He  pointed  to  headquarters,  and  told  me  to 
go  there,  if  there  was  wrong  to  be  redressed. 

The  court  martial  tried,  on  an  average,  four  cases  a 
day.  Five  were  sent  away  for  execution  the  day  I 
was  there.  A  negro  was  sentenced,  for  an  attempted 
crime,  to  the  ball  and  chain.  The  chains  were  riveted 
round  his  ankles,  two  heavy  iron  balls  being  attached  ; 
and  when  he  walked,  he  either  carried  them  in  his 
hands  or  dragged  them  after  him,  while  the  clanking 
of  the  chain  was  heard  wherever  he  moved. 

After  the  distribution  of  the  clothing  we  went 
through  the  barracks ;  and  I  could  readily  believe 
the  officer,  who  had  been  a  prisoner  at  Richmond, 
when  he  said  that  he  would  rather  be  confined  in  the 
Libby  Prison  for  six  months  than  in  the  Bull-Ring  for 
one.  They  were  about  thirty  feet  in  width  by  one 
hundred  and  fifty  feet  long,  built  of  rough  boards,  one 


132  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN    THE 

story  high.  Along  the  whole  length  of  the  barracks, 
oo  each  side,  were  bunks,  which  held  three  or  four 
men  each,  the  floor  serving  for  one,  and  three  being 
made  above  it.  In  the  centre  of  the  building  was 
another  range  of  them,  which  extended  from  end  to 
end  ;  and  the  scene  here  beggared  all  description.  The 
bunks  were  not  filled,  for  many  were  in  the  yard  ;  but 
each  one  had  its  occupants,  and  their  condition  was 
loathsome  in  the  extreme.  They  were  lying  upon  the 
boards,  with  no  straw  or  blanket ;  and  although  there 
were  no  prison  bars  or  dungeon  walls,  yet  it  was  dark 
and  noisome.  Lying  all  about  us  were  men  under 
sentence  of  death,  awaiting  their  call  to  the  gibbet. 
In  one  bunk  was  a  man  all  curled  up  with  chills, 
wrapped  in  an  empty  sack  for  oats,  without  straw  or 
other  covering.  There  was  yet  a  spark  of  kindliness 
left,  as  I  could  see  by  his  subdued  "  Thank  you," 
which  was,  in  him,  more  than  an  utterance  of  words. 
In  one  bunk  were  two  men  chained  together,  lying  in 
a  state  of  utter  wretchedness  and  despair.  Their  con 
dition  was  horrible,  and  they  were  awaiting  their 
doom.  I  shall  never  forget  the  expression  of  their 
faces  as  they  uncovered  them,  nor  the  intense  yearning 
for  companionship  which  was  expressed  in  their  eyes, 
half  obscured  by  their  long  matted  hair,  as  they  looked 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  133 

up  in  response  to  something  I  said  to  them.  They 
were  in  the  darkest  corner,  on  the  floor,  so  soon  to  be 
executed,  yet  with  nobody  to  speak  one  gentle  word,  or 
to  offer  to  them  any  kindly  sympathy  in  their  last  hour. 
But  this  state  of  things  had  been  worse.  Before 
these  barracks  were  built,  the  men  were  in  little  shelter 
tents  in  the  yard,  and  at  night  slept  upon  the  ground 
with  no  blankets  or  other  covering  to  protect  them. 
In  rainy  weather  they  were  exposed,  with  no  over 
coats,  clad  just  as  I  have  described  them  above.  Com 
plaints  were  made,  and  barracks  were  built ;  and  only 
the  day  before  my  visit  had  stoves  been  put  into  them. 
The  barracks  were  built  from  a  fund  which  accumu 
lated,  like  a  hospital  fund,  from  the  savings  of  rations 
issued  by  the  government.  A  full  ration  was  more 
than  the  necessities  of  a  man  required ;  and  where  so 
many  were  together,  a  saving  was  made  and  a  fund 
accumulated,  which  was  appropriated  for  the  benefit 
of  the  men.  The  only  redeeming  feature  of  the  whole 
was  the  food  and  the  arrangements  for  cooking  it. 
This  was  done  in  a  separate  building  in  the  enclosure. 
A  large  circular  brick  furnace  was  built,  about  four 
feet  high,  containing  six  large  caldrons,  which  were 
set  with  grates  and  flues,  ingeniously  arranged  for  the 
boiling  of  soup,  meat,  and  coffee.  I  looked  this 


134  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN   THE 

cooking  department  through  during  the  preparation  of 
dinner,  and  all  was  clean  and  in  order. 

After  our  visit,  stringent  orders  for  cleanliness  were 
issued  ;  and,  as  the  winter  passed,  their  condition  did 
not  grow  worse ;  and  as  spring  opened,  it  improved 
day  by  day. 


ARMY   Off   THE    POTOMAC.  135 


CHAPTER    IX. 

CEAEACTEES   IN   THE   HOSPITAL. 

Arrival  of  the  Wounded.  —  Last  Words. —  The  New  Hampshire 
Soldier.  —  The  Colored  Drummer-Boy.  —  Tender  Spots.  —  The 
Vermont  Soldier.  —  Influence  of  Suffering.  —  Hospital  Bummers. 
—  Track,  the  Maine  Artillerist.  —  A  German  Soldier  of  the 
Third  Generation.  —  Cheerfulness  in  the  Hospital.  —  The  Death 
of  Hartman.  —  Comfort-Bags.  —  Washing  for  the  Hospitals.— 
Contraband  Camp. 

THE  absorbing  interest  of  this  hospital  life  increased 
every  day :  with  new  cases,  new  characters,  new 
countenances,  new  sufferings,  new  stories  of  sorrow, 
every  hour  was  full.  The  wounded  cavalry  men 
were  brought  in  from  the  recent  movements  on  our 
left.  The  train  stopped  in  the  rear  of  our  tent.  It 
was  dark  and  raining.  With  our  lanterns  we  went 
out  to  assist  their  removal  on  stretchers,  —  some,  alas  ! 
who  needed  no  sympathy  now,  who  were  past  all  heal 
ing  !  One  poor  lad,  to  be  so  tenderly  cared  for,  with 
both  arms  just  amputated,  was  yet  gentle  and  patient 


136  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN   THE 

in  this  loss,  and  confident  that  his  friends  would  rally 
to  his  aid.  Another,  with  a  bandage  over  both  eyes, 
had  had  one  of  them  destroyed  by  a  bayonet  thrust  in 
a  charge  ;  and  such  cases  of  individual  suffering  were 
now  to  demand  all  our  care.  A  bunch  of  grapes  we 
gave  to  one,  a  cup  of  water  to  another,  a  glass  of  wine 
to  another,  —  reaching,  in  this  simple  way,  wants 
which  more  ambitious  offerings  would  not  supply  ;  yet 
all  were  received  with  speechless  gratitude,  and  reacted 
upon  one's  own  heart  in  ways  too  subtle  to  be  defined. 
The  story  of  such  experiences  can  never  be  told.  In 
addition  to  the  spoken  wrord,  there  was  the  tone,  the 
look,  the  fluttering  life,  the  stillness  of  the  ward,  and 
the  presence  of  death.  If  I  could  have  written  it  as  I 
went  along,  —  if  I  could  have  given  pictures  daguerre- 
otyped  from  the  instant  impressions  and  experiences 
of  every  hour,  apart  from  its  grouping,  and  coloring, 
and  shading,  —  it  would  have  been  a  revelation  of  in 
dividual  character,  a  history  of  individual  endurance, 
an  outline  of  those  finer  sensibilities  and  emotions 
which  enrich  our  human  nature,  and  give  a  new  sense 
of  its  dignity,  beauty,  and  nobility.  There  were  many 
things  to  touch  the  heart  as  we  went  from  ward  to 
ward,  too  trifling  indeed  to  jot  down  in  a  diary,  or  to 
write  in  a  letter,  yet  not  too  unimportant  to  recall 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  137 

after  they  were  gone,  as  a  part  of  the  tragedy  of  our 
daily  lives. 

One  poor  fellow,  who  seemed  to  be  as  well  as  usual, 
sufficiently  strong  to  move  about  his  tent,  went  to  lie 
down,  and  within  two  hours  breathed  his  last.  I 
happened  to  be  with  him,  administering  stimulants, 
chafing  his  hands  and  temples ;  but  the  angel  was 
hovering  over  him,  and  the  spirit  took  its  flight.  As 
I  stepped  into  another  tent,  another  of  the  dead  was 
borne  off  to  his  burial  on  a  stretcher.  And  so  it  went 
on  from  day  to  day,  with  nobody  to  drop  a  tear,  with 
nobody  to  think  of  it  a  moment  after  the  man  was  laid 
in  his  grave. 

Often  the  dying  were  conscious  to  the  last ;  some  of 
them  realizing  their  condition,  and  waiting  for  the 
summons,  with  a  faith  as  simple  as  a  child's.  One 
man  said  to  me,  "  Tell  my  mother  that  I  am  dying ; 
tell  her  that  I  have  nothing  to  fear  ;  tell  her  I  am  sure 
of  an  eternal  home,  for  I  know  that  my  Saviour  has 
gone  to  prepare  it."  Another  man  said  to  me,  u  Noth 
ing  can  befall  me,  for  Jesus  Christ  does  and  will 
sustain  me."  And  so  they  passed  on  from  day  to 
day,  —  some  with  the  tenderest  hearts  and  with  a  most 
living  faith,  others  benumbed  and  unconscious  by  dis 
ease,  or  wild  with  the  delirium  of  fever. 


138  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

In  one  of  our  wards  we  had  a  little  fellow,  possibly 
reaching  the  minimum  stature  of  a  soldier,  but  only 
fourteen  years  of  age,  a  New  Hampshire  lad,  rugged, 
intelligent,  and  of  most  winning  countenance.  I  asked 
him  why  he  entered  the  service.  He  wanted  to  save 
his  country.  He  was  sick  from  exposure,  he  would 
admit ;  but  still  he  liked  the  service,  was  satisfied  with 
his  rations,  and  "  wanted  to  see  the  thing  through." 
A  brave  boy,  away  from  the  influences  of  home, 
roughing  it  in  the  army  with  the  rest,  sleeping  on  the 
ground,  rolled  in  his  blanket  only,  the  coldest  nights, 
yet  with  no  gnawing  homesickness  at  his  heart,  only 
cheerfulness,  hopefulness,  and  good  courage.  He  had 
the  true  New  England  grit. 

Another  lad,  —  a  sick,  helpless,  and  friendless  col 
ored  boy,  —  not  quite  fourteen,  whose  only  home  had 
been  a  cold  and  cheerless  camp,  died,  after  many 
weeks  of  wasting  fever.  He  was  a  poor  little  waif  in 
a  great  army  ;  he  had  no  memories  of  a  pleasant  child 
hood,  no  links  bound  him  to  any  human  creature  but 
the  rough  soldiers  who  surrounded  him,  or  to  us  his 
friends,  who  were  touched  by  the  gentleness  and  sub 
missive  patience  with  which  he  bore  his  pains.  He 
had  been  wasting  away  for  weeks,  growing  thinner 
and  paler  every  day  ;  at  times  sitting  curled  up  at  the 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  139 

stove  in  the  tent,  always  quiet  and  thoughtful.  He 
was  one  of  the  most  gentle,  lovable  little  fellows  I 
ever  met.  Although  he  suffered  much,  he  never  com 
plained.  He  seemed  to  feel  that  he  could  not  live,  and 
to  look  death  in  the  face  quietly  and  firmly  all  the 
time.  I  am  not  sure  that  he  fully  realized  it  all ;  but  in 
everything  I  said  to  him,  he  was  so  gently  acquiescent 
that  it  really  seemed  as  if  he  was  willing  and  ready  to 
die,  if  it  so  pleased  the  all-loving  Father  above.  He 
was  a  drummer  boy ;  and  as  he  said  to  me  with  much 
pathos  once,  "  I  have  not  a  friend  in  the  world," 
"  Ah,"  said  I,  "  Henry,  we  are  your  friends,  and  we 
will  do  for  you  all  we  can  to  make  you  well,  and  to 
make  you  happy."  He  knew  and  felt  this  ;  and  every 
day  I  used  to  go  into  his  tent  and  sit  down  beside  him, 
and  try  to  make  him  realize  that,  although  the  world 
about  him  might  seem  very  cold  and  hard,  yet  there 
was  One  who  never  forgot  orphans  and  little  friendless 
children  (for  he  was  so  small  and  thin  that  I  could 
easily  have  held  him  in  my  arms)  ;  and  I  endeavored 
to  cheer  his  loneliness  by  telling  him  of  all  the  pleasant 
people  that  I  knew.  Then  he  soon  became  too  weak 
to  rise,  and  so,  day  after  day,  kept  his  bed,  patiently 
enduring,  grateful  for  every  effort  to  tempt  his  appe 
tite,  and  for  every  attention  that  we  could  pay  him.  I 


140  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

watched  him  day  by  day,  and  saw  that  the  lamp  was 
only  flickering,  and  that  very  soon  we  should  have  to 
lay  him  away  in  the  grave  ;  and  so  the  little  fellow 
died  as  calmly  and  quietly  as  he  had  lived,  leaving  no 
home  to  be  darkened  by  bereavement,  but  going  up  to 
a  bright  home,  where  we  trust  that  he  has  found  his 
friends  among  the  angels. 

It  is  surprising  to  see  what  tender  spots  there  are  in 
the  hearts  of  some  of  our  roughest  men.  I  went  with 
Miss  Gilson  into  one  of  the  wards,  where  she  was 
asked  to  sing.  Joining  in  some  simple  hymn,  which 
called  forth  a  response  from  a  few  voices  in  different 
parts  of  the  tent,  and  finding  how  eager  the  men  were 
for  more,  she  sang  a  plaintive  little  song,  "  Just  before 
the  battle,  mother,"  then  the  most  popular  song  in  the 
army,  and  reproduced  in  a  hundred  different  ways  by 
the  soldiers  or  by  the  bands.  There  was  perfect  still 
ness  in  the  ward,  and  the  melody  melted  into  that 
exquisite  air,  "  I'm  lonely  since  my  mother  died." 
Nearly  every  man  had  raised  himself  on  his  elbow  to 
catch  these  notes.  Some  were  wiping  their  eyes,  and 
others,  too  weak  to  move,  were  hiding  their  emotion, 
which  still  was  betrayed  by  the  quivering  lip,  and  the 
single  tear  as  it  fell,  but  was  not  wiped  away.  One 
fine  fellow,  a  Vermont  boy,  very  sick,  could  hardly 


ARMY   OF    THE   POTOMAC.  141 

speak,  when  she  went  up  and  laid  her  hand  upon  his 
head,  and  brushed  back  his  fine,  soft,  black  hair.  He 
was  a  man  of  delicate  mould ;  and  she  soon  found,  in 
talking  with  him,  that  although  a  private  in  the  army, 
he  magnified  his  position,  while  it  also  reflected  back 
its  dignity  upon  him.  Homesickness  had  done  its 
work.  He  had  been  in  the  hospital  six  months,  after 
the  severe  exposures  of  the  earlier  part  of  the  cam 
paign.  He  said  to  me,  "  Do  you  know  how  many 
men  die  of  homesickness  in  the  army?  O,"  said  he, 
"  I  feel  it  so  much  here"  pressing  his  fingers  over  his 
heart,  "  and  I  think  it  will  wear  me  out." 

As  we  moved  about  from  tent  to  tent,  or  from  bed 
to  bed,  it  is  not  true  that  every  man  in  the  hospital 
presented  such  strong  claims  upon  our  sympathies. 
These  were  only  individual  cases ;  and  as  these  are 
generally  mentioned  in  hospital  experiences,  people  get 
the  impression  that  all  hospital  life  is  full  of  heroism, 
of  thrilling  personal  narrative,  or  of  that  which  moves 
or  melts  the  heart  to  tenderest  pity.  Now,  any  true 
picture  of  hospital  life  must  tell  the  whole  story.  I 
know  that  suffering  subdues  and  softens  any  nature, 
•  however  rough  ;  and  that  there  is  an  influence  all  the 
time  in  the  hospital  to  bring  out  what  is  purest  and 
noblest  in  the  heart ;  still,  the  men  who  lie  there  are 


142  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN   THE 

only  average  men ;  and  while  there  may  be  many 
choice  spirits  among  them,  and  many  who  show  every 
day  a  noble  fidelity  to  their  position,  yet  a  large  pro 
portion  are  those  who  have  had  no  previous  advan 
tages  of  training ;  who  entered  into  the  service  from 
various  motives  ;  who  are  quite  unused  to  the  finer 
susceptibilities  and  amenities  of  life,  —  all  classes  of 
men,  even  to  those  who  are  unworthy  of  the  uniform 
they  wear.  We  met  all  sorts  of  characters ;  some 
from  whom  I  shrank  with  instinctive  aversion  ;  others, 
whom  no  kindness  seemed  to  touch  ;  and  others  still, 
who  would  play  upon  your  innocence  or  your  sympa 
thies,  practising  those  tricks  of  the  army  which  were 
unworthy  of  any  man.  And  here  were  such  of  every 
grade  :  the  morose  and  the  affable ;  the  kindly  tem 
pered  and  the  churlish  ;  the  outlaw  and  the  gentleman  ; 
the  tenderly  educated  boy,  with  a  mother  at  home  who 
never  forgets  him  in  her  prayers ;  the  man  of  high 
and  noble  motive,  who  remembers  his  wife  and  little 
children  as  the  one  sacred  bond  to  keep  him  true  ;  and 
the  outcast  of  society,  whom  nobody  would  weep  for, 
—  of  whom  the  world  says,  perhaps  too  harshly,  that 
he  is  fit  only  for  the  front  of  the  line  of  battle,  and 
whom  society  is  glad  to  be  rid  of  when  he  dies. 
Yet  these  men  were  all  soldiers  in  a  common  cause. 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  143 

They  fought   for  our  national  honor,  they  fell  bleed 
ing  in  its  defence,  and  all  alike  were  entitled  to  all 
the  healing  ministries   of  our  service  —  to  the  balm 
which  we  could  pour  into  their  aching  wounds.     There 
were    loathsome    diseases    which    called    for   personal 
service  at  the  bedside,  which  yielded  to  him  who  ren 
dered   it  only  heartache   and   depression;   there  were 
kindnesses  and  attentions   which  all   had  a  right    to 
claim,  yet  which  did  not  always  meet  with  responses 
of    gratitude ;    while    without   the   most    careful    self- 
discipline,   one   found    himself  serving  one  patient  at 
the  expense   of  another, — neglecting  the   outcast  for 
the  sake  of  the  gentleman.     We  did  have  our  pets  in 
the  hospital,  and  we  could  not  help  it.     How  different 
was  it  to  go  into  one  tent  and  see  a  poor  boy  raised  in 
bed,  dying  of  a  rapid  consumption,   yet  so  cheerful, 
subdued,  and  quiet  in  his  sufferings,  thankful  for  every 
word  of  sympathy,  or  for  any  attention  to  his  comfort, 
and  then  pass  on  to  another  tent  of  men,  convalescent, 
perhaps,  who  found  pleasure  only  in  the  vilest  litera 
ture  (for  which  we  always  substituted  decent  books), 
men   whose   tastes  were  low,   who  had   no  habits  of 
personal  cleanliness,  and  had  to  be  educated  up  to  it 
every  day.     Thus  we  had  every  variety  of  character 
in  our  work.     It  was  not  all  poetry,  nor  was  it  pretty 


144  HOSPITAL    LIFE  IN   THE 

sentiment  to  cry  over.  It  was  hard,  exhausting  work, 
sometimes  discouraging,  and  always  sad.  There  were 
few  gleams  of  sunshine,  there  were  many  clouds  ;  but 
whether  the  burden  were  easy  or  light,  we  had  to 
carry  it  cheerfully  and  hopefully  unto  the  end. 

In  the  transfer  of  colored  troops  from  the  Army  of 
the  Potomac  to  the  Army  of  the  James,  a  regiment 
passed  through  our  hospital  and  camped  in  the  edge 
of  the  woods  directly  in  our  rear.  The  surgeon 
reported  his  sick.  The  Medical  Director  ordered  them 
into  our  vacant  beds,  and  I  was  sent  to  see  their  con 
dition  and  to  get  them  in.  Fifty-five  men  were  lying 
out  without  shelter  from  the  dampness  of  the  evening, 
with  no  more  care  than  a  surgeon  with  no  medical 
supplies  could  give,  and  altogether  the  men  were  in  a 
sad  and  suffering  condition.  They  were  bolstered  up 
against  the  trees  ;  fires  had  been  built  before  them, 
and  they  were  needing  everything.  Ambulances  were 
provided,  and  before  midnight  they  were  in  comfort 
able  beds.  This  was  no  sooner  done  than  the  steam 
whistle  spoke  the  arrival  of  another  train  to  be  cared 
for  —  cases  of  black,  malignant  typhoid  ;  many  help 
less  on  stretchers,  some  shivering  with  chills,  others  on 
fire  with  fever  —  a  picture,  by  the  dim  candle-light, 
of  raiserv  indeed.  When  the  work  is  over  we  seek 


ARMY  OF    THE   POTOMAC.  145 

our  rest,  and  morning  finds  those  who  had  died  during 
the  evening,  in  the  dead  tent,  with  their  names  pinned 
upon  their  blankets,  wrapped  ready  for  their  humble 
burial. 

"  Trask  is  dead,"  said  Parrish  to  me  one  afternoon 
on  my  return  from  the  front.  A  strong  bond  of  sym 
pathy  had  existed  between  us,  and  for  weeks  I  had 
watched  his  painful  decline  with  an  interest  which  I 
sometimes  thought  only  one  brother  could  feel  for 
another  in  such  an  experience  ;  and  now  in  my  absence 
he  had  died.  I  went  to  the  dead  tent  alone,  and 
gently  removed  the  blanket  which  was  his  only  shroud. 
He  lay,  calm  and  placid,  and  free  from  pain,  next  to 
a  comrade  who  had  died  the  same  hour,  a  helpless 
cripple,  both  occupying  beds  side  by  side.  If  ever 
sickness  illustrated  the  triumph  of  spiritual  power  over 
physical  weakness  and  pain,  his,  in  that  humble  hospital 
bed,  had  made  it  clear.  When  it  became  evident  that 
an  operation  was  necessary  to  save  life,  in  the  nervous 
quivering  of  the  flesh,  he  groaned.  It  was  but  once, 
and  it  was  the  only  expression  of  pain  I  heard  him 
utter  while  he  was  under  our  care.  I  had  some  choice 
port  wine,  which  we  gave  him  three  times  a  day,  and 
for  a  time  he  seemed  to  be  gaining  slowly ;  but  it  was 
only  in  seeming,  for  he  was  really  growing  weaker  and 
7 


146  HOSPITAL   LIFE   IN   THE 

weaker  every  day.  One  morning  I  went  in  to  see 
him,  and  as  I  put  my  hand  upon  his  forehead  he  spoke 
to  me  about  his  wife  and  the  four  little  children  whom 
he  should  never  see  again.  He  went  into  the  service 
a  private  soldier,  with  the  simple  purpose  of  doing  his 
part,  which  he  had  done,  as  I  afterwards  learned,  with 
unspotted  honor.  He  loved  his  family,  and  he  loved 
his  country ;  and  if  we  are  to  judge  of  the  character 
of  his  service  from  the  spiritual  beauty  of  his  last 
days,  —  from  his  constancy,  and  patience,  and  strong, 
courageous  cheerfulness,  —  it  must  have  been  indeed 
a  service  of  which  the  purest  patriot  might  well  be 
proud.  But  he  was  to  die,  and  he  knew  it ;  and  as  I 
bade  him  good  by,  thinking  to  see  him  again,  with  the 
pressure  of  his  hand  there  was  the  moistened  eye, 
which  I  cannot  but  feel  was  his  expression  of  the 
closeness  of  the  tie  which  bound  us  two  together  in 
this  last  companionship  of  his  life.  The  letters  from 
his  wife,  afterwards  received,  tried  to  express  her 
gratitude  for  our  care.  She  knew  he  could  not  live, 
and  in  her  sorrow,  which  will  darken  her  whole  life, 
she  could  only  write,  "  It  is  so  hard,  it  is  so  hard  to 
bear !  " 

In  one  of  our  wards  was  a  young  German,  a  noble 
fellow,  a  soldier  of  the  third  generation,  his  grandfather 


ARMY   OF    THE   POTOMAC.  14? 

having  been  killed  at  the  battle  of  Leipsic,  under  Na 
poleon,  and  his  father  in  the  revolution  in  Germany  in 
1848.  The  young  man  enlisted  early  in  the  war,  and 
when  his  time  expired  he  went  in  again.  He  was  de 
voted  to  the  cause,  and  determined  to  see  the  struggle 
through.  Within  him  were  smouldering  those  old  fires 
of  liberty  which  had  allured  him  to  this  country,  and 
finally  into  the  strife ;  and  he  was  there  fighting  for  a 
cause  which  he  believed  to  be  his  cause,  as  it  was  the 
cause  of  every  oppressed  people  on  the  earth.  He  had 
been  in  every  battle  of  the  Army  of  the  Potomac, 
which,  to  a  man  who  had  not  flinched,  was  indeed  a 
proud  record.  With  his  mother  he  had  struggled  on 
for  six  years  through  poverty  and  neglect  until  he 
made  a  comfortable  home  for  her,  and  then  he  entered 
the  army.  His  face  told  of  privation  and  suffering. 
There  were  deeper  lines  in  his  forehead  than  one  often 
sees  in  men  of  twenty-two,  and  his  whole  face  showed 
a  manhood  well  controlled,  a  pure  and  resolute  pur 
pose,  with  a  heart  as  gentle  and  tender  as  a  woman's. 
I  could  see  this  when  he  spoke  of  his  mother,  and  of 
that  one  furlough  two  years  before,  and  of  the  blessing 
which  that  brief  visit  was  to  him.  Such  a  cheerful 
face  is  always  sunlight  in  the  ward,  where,  upon 
hospital  beds,  through  days  and  weeks  of  pain,  there 


148  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IX    THE 

are  so  few  alleviations.  And  as  to  cheerfulness,  I  am 
reminded  of  an  old  man  who  was  brought  in  weeks 
before,  so  reduced  that  we  thought  it  impossible  that 
he  should  live.  I  call  him  old,  while  yet  he  was  only 
forty-four ;  but  I  can  only  think  of  him  as  a  man  of 
sixty.  Although  so  broken  and  prostrated,  a  mere 
skeleton  in  frame,  he  was  the  most  thoroughly  cheerful 
man  we  had.  Whatever  his  condition,  he  would  say, 
"  I  think  I  am  on  the  gain."  He  never  looked  on  the 
dark  side  ;  and  when  I  have  wondered  at  his  cheerful 
ness,  he  would  say,  "  We  sick  men  have  our  duties 
too.  You  are  patient  and  kind  to  us ;  we  should 
repay  you,  in  the  only  way  we  can,  by  being  cheer 
ful."  And  this  is  heroism.  It  is  not  the  heroism  of 
the  battle-field,  for  that  is  thought  to  be  a  grander 
thing  than  any  such  endurance  ;  but  it  is  the  harder 
heroism  of  the  hospital,  which,  if  never  recorded  in 
our  literature,  has  its  bright  pages  in  the  book  of  eter 
nal  remembrance. 

Mr.  Ware  says,  in  his  little  tract,  that  cheerfulness 
is  not  merely  the  grace  of  a  full  heart,  —  it  is  often  the 
charm  of  a  sad  one  ;  and  I  am  sure  that  this  old  man 
had  enough  to  make  him  sad.  As  I  saw  him  wasting 
away  day  by  day,  and  felt  that  the  chillness  of  death 
was  creeping  over  him,  and  as  at  last  I  was  called  to 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  149 

feel  his  pulse  as  it  ceased  to  beat,  I  thought  of  that 
little  verse,  so  applicable  here. — 

"  Cast  as  a  broken  vessel  by, 

Thy  will  I  can  no  longer  do; 
Yet  while  a  daily  death  I  die, 

Thy  power  I  may  in  weakness  show; 
My  patience  may  thy  glory  raise, 
My  speechless  woe  proclaim  thy  praise." 

The  last  hours  of  the  old  year  were  consecrated,  as 
so  many  preceding  days  had  been,  by  death.  One 
man,  also  prematurely  old,  who  had  been  drafted,  and 
accepted  as  a  good  recruit  but  four  months  ago,  leav 
ing  his  little  family  of  three  children  and  their  mother, 
was  now  to  fill  a  soldier's  grave.  Disease  had  made 
fearful  inroads  upon  his  system ;  and  his  face,  so  thin, 
and  pinched,  and  care-worn,  always  bore  a  concen 
trated  expression  of  pain.  Still,  he  ever  spoke  hope 
fully  about  his  home,  and  about  "  the  three  smart  little 
boys  as  you'd  ever  wish  to  put  your  eyes  on."  He 
asked  me  to  write  to  "  Mary,"  that  she  must  not  let 
his  sickness,  or  even  his  death,  if  he  were  to  die, 
trouble  her  too  much.  "  Although  it  is  very  hard  to 
be  so  far  away  from  her,  yet  I  try  to  be  happy,  and 
I  keep  saying  over  to  myself  all  the  hymns  I  ever 
knew."  And  as  he  fell  back  upon  this  exquisite 


150  HOSPITAL    LIFE    IN   THE 

resource  of  his  memory,  drawing  upon  the  wealth  of 
his  religious  stores  for  the  only  comfort  and  peace 
which  could  come  to  him  in  his  last  hours.  Towards 
evening  the  nurse  called  me,  and  said  Hartman  was 
dying.  I  took  my  flask  of  brandy,  a  little  bay  rum, 
and  a  clean  linen  handkerchief,  and  \vent  into  his  tent. 
His  hands  were  clasped,  his  eyes  were  set,  and  his 
face  bore  such  an  expression  of  suffering  as  made  it 
the  most  piteous  sight  that  one  could  look  upon. 
Finding  him  conscious,  but  unable,  although  trying, 
to  speak,  by  stimulants  and  chafing  he  was  so  much 
restored  as  to  speak  feebly  what  he  wished  to  say. 
He  preferred  to  talk  in  German  ;  so,  through  a  nurse 
who  was  in  the  ward,  he  gave  me  his  last  messages  to 
those  at  home,  and  then  sank  rapidly,  the  heart  having 
entirely  ceased  within  a  few  moments,  although  it  was 
impossible  to  tell  the  instant  when  he  died.  As  the 
sun  went  down  in  a  flood  of  splendor  on  New  Year's 
Eve,  we  laid  him  away  ;  and  as  the  morning  of  Sun 
day  broke  still  and  peaceful  on  our  camp,  I  could  not 
but  think  of  the  weeping  women  at  the  sepulchre,  who 
found  the  stone  rolled  away,  and  in  their  risen  Lord 
that  death  was  swallowed  up  in  victory. 

Every  home  influence  which  can  be  brought  to  bear 
upon  a  soldier's  life  in  camp  or  hospital  is  needed  tc 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  I5i 

counteract  the  immoralities,  the  coarseness,  and  the 
manifold  temptations  with  which  they  are  surrounded. 
They  derive  pleasure  from  even  a  trifling  remembrance, 
and  the  simplest  gift  is  not  without  its  influence. 
There  was  a  distribution  of  "  comfort  bags,"  contain 
ing  all  the  little  conveniences  which  a  soldier  on  the 
march  or  in  the  hospital  is  always  glad  to  receive  — 
needles,  thread,  pins,  buttons,  tape,  and  yarn,  together 
with  little  papers  of  pepper,  ginger,  cloves,  even  tea, 
and  sugar,  and  tobacco  ;  and  in  all  my  hospital  expe 
riences  I  have  never  seen  anything  which  has  given 
such  real  pleasure  to  the  men.  Those  who  were  able 
to  move  gathered  round  the  stores  in  their  wards,  the 
cripples  of  all  kinds  crept  up  and  sat  upon  the  adjoin 
ing  beds,  each  waiting  for  his  gift.  As  it  was  handed 
to  him,  he  went  to  the  bottom  of  it  with  the  pleased 
curiosity  of  a  little  child  searching  the  stocking  for  the 
gifts  of  Santa  Clans  on  Christmas  morning. 
"  Look  at  that  needle-book  !  " 
"  See  my  towel  —  just  what  I  wanted  !•" 
"  Jolly  !  here's  a  comb :  haven't  had  one  since  the 
Weldon  Railroad !  " 

And  one  man,  who  had  a  felon  on  his  finger,  found 
a  little  roll  of  soft  linen  with  a  box  of  salve  —  the  very 
thing  he  needed  most.  He  retired  to  his  bed  in  the 


152  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

corner  with  as  much  quiet  satisfaction  as  I  ever  saw 
pictured  on  any  face.  One  little  flaxen-haired  lad,  not 
yet  sixteen,  the  skin  of  whose  forehead  was  as  white 
and  transparent  as  an  infant's,  yet  very  sick  with 
typhoid  fever,  said  to  me,  as  he  looked  up  holding 
feebly  out  his  thread,  and  pins,  and  buttons,  "  This 
will  be  my  only  Christmas  present,  —  it  is  so  nice  to 
be  remembered." 

The  letters  from  the  children  who  sent  these  things 
were  also  a  blessing  to  the  men.  One  of  these  par 
ticularly  attracted  them.  After  its  contents  had  been 
rehearsed  to  a  little  group,  a  hail  was  heard  from  a 
distant  corner :  "I  say,  let's  have  it  up  here  now." 
A  fine-looking  man,  propped  up  in  bed,  having  lost 
his  arm,  was  chosen  reader ;  and  as  he  spoke  in  a 
full,  clear  voice,  every  eye  was  upon  him,  while  men 
were  turning  on  their  cots  to  catch  every  word. 
When  it  was  finished,  cries  of,  "  Good !  good ! " 
"  That's  the  sort !  "  &c.,  resounded  through  the  ward. 
The  value  of  such  gifts  in  their  influence  cannot  be 
over-estimated  in  rough  army  life,  where  each  man  has 
to  look  out  for  himself,  and  where  he  has  everything 
to  drive  away  the  more  softening  influences  of  his 
home. 

I  have  seen  enough  to  make  me  believe  in  the  truth 


ARMY   OF    THE  POTOMAC.  153 

of  that  simile  I  have  heard,  that  many  a  soldier  is 
like  a  September  chestnut,  —  the  outside  is  hard,  and 
sharp,  and  shut  up  ;  but  the  inside  is  soft,  and  sweet, 
and  good.  Now,  the  thing  is  to  get  at  the  inside  ;  and 
I  claim  that  if  the  shell  was  once  cracked,  and  one 
fairly  reached  the  tender  spot,  recalling  memories  of 
home,  of  wife,  or  mother,  or  little  children,  they  would 
forget  their  brutal  games  and  coarse  associates,  and 
show  the  tenderness  and  the  gentleness  which  were  in 
their  hearts,  but  which  their  rough  exterior  so  entirely 
concealed. 

The  washing  for  the  hospitals  was  done  by  the  con 
trabands,  the  government,  for  such  service,  providing 
them  with  shelter  and  rations.  Their  little  settlements 
were  therefore  connected  with  each  hospital  at  City 
Point.  They  flocked  into  our  lines  from  the  old  plan 
tations, —  whole  families,  of  three  generations,  —  and 
cast  their  lot  with  us.  It  was  often  a  hard  lot.  At  first 
their  encampment  was  composed  of  mere  hospital  flies, 
hardly  yielding  shelter  from  the  rain.  Their  cooking 
was  done  upon  embers  on  the  ground,  the  smoke  filling 
their  tents,  which  afforded  no  outlet.  The  discomfort 
of  this  may  readily  be  conceived.  Winter  came  on 
with  no  provision  for  them,  and  caused  the  sharpest 
suffering.  They  were  destitute  of  clothing  and  money, 
7* 


154  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

and  were  dying  from  exposure  and  neglect.  I  asked 
one  of  them  one  day  why  he  left  his  home.  He 
looked  up  at  me  with  a  simple  wonder,  saying,  "  O, 
'case  I  couldn't  stay  dar  no  longer." 

"Why  not?" 

"  'Case  I  wouldn't  eat  de  worm  nor  take  de  lash. 
In  massa's  'backer-field  de  programme  is,  for  ebery 
one  dat  miss  a  worm  in  pickin'  from  de  leaf,  why  you 
hab  to  eat  dat  worm  or  take  de  lash  ;  I  took  de  lash 
rather  dan  eat  de  worm.  So  dey  stretch  me  out  on  all 
fours,  and  take  de  long  brack  whip,  and  cut  de  flesh. 
Den  dey  cut  de  ground  wid  de  bloody  lash,  and  get  it 
full  ob  dirt,  and  draw  de  blood  again ;  and  dat's  de 
trubble.  I  lub  de  missus  and  de  chil'ren ;  but  de  Lord 
open  de  door,  and  dat  was  'nufffur  me." 

In  this  rude  camp,  with  all  the  privations  of  this 
primitive  style  of  living,  there  was  no  complaint. 
With  a  simple  submission  to  their  lot,  they  accepted  it 
without  a  murmur.  The  attention  of  Miss  Gilson  had 
been  called  to  their  condition,  and  soon  comfortable 
huts  were  built,  clothing  was  sent  from  the  North,  and 
their  prospects  brightened.  These  huts  were  built  in 
streets,  were  well  trenched,  and,  if  not  always  tight 
and  warm,  were  far  more  comfortable  than  open  air 
exposure.  Some  of  them  were  extremely  neat  and 


ARMY   0V   THE   POTOMAC.  155 

pleasant,  and  the  women  took  pride  in  their  humble 
homes.  The  work  these  women  performed  was  of 
great  value  to  the  hospitals.  With  a  superintendent 
to  direct  them,  they  labored  faithfully.  Eager  to 
learn,  thankful  for  a  word  of  encouragement,  they 
became  accustomed  to  their  new  position,  and  were 
satisfied  and  happy. 

The  influence  of  Miss  Gilson  was  quickly  noticeable 

in  the  camp.     Her  word  was  law  ;   and  as  she  moved 

among  them,  illustrating  and  enforcing  the  plain  duties 

of  life,  its  effect  was  seen  in  greater  faithfulness  to 

their  work,  in  kindness  to  each  other,  in  neatness,  and 

gentleness    with    the    children.     She   made  them  feel 

that  their  religion   was  not  for  prayer  meetings  and 

Sundays   alone,   but  was  for  the   wash-tub,   for  duty 

among  the  sick,  for  bearing  their  burdens  patiently  — 

a   religion    for   work-day  life,   for  all  places   and  all 

times.     They  were  made  to  feel  that  they  had  hearts 

and  minds,  as  well  as  bones  and  muscles ;  and  that 

while  they   were   compelled   to  work   for  their  daily 

bread,  they  must  also  steadily  improve  their  condition, 

and  be  worthy  of  their  freedom,  by  living  true,  devout, 

faithful,  and  loving  lives. 


156  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 


CHAPTER    X. 

ACTIVE    OPERATIONS. 

THE    SURRENDER    OP    GENERAL   LEE. 

Grant's  Closing  Campaign.  —  Recapitulation  of  Movements.  —  Pe 
tersburg.  —  Southside  Railroad.  —  EwelPs  Corps  captured.  — 
Confederate  Generals  Ewell,  Kershaw,  and  Custis  Lee.  —  Their 
Bivouac.  —  Woodbridge,  the  Georgia  Soldier. 

THE  long  winter  of  1864-5  was  passing  into  spring. 
Through  the  apparent  inactivity  or'  many  months, 
General  Grant's  plans  were  silently  culminating  to  the 
point  of  a  general  movement  of  the  army.  Sheridan's 
cavalry  had  just  finished  the  last  raid  in  the  valley  and 
on  the  James  River  Canal,  and  having  been  partly 
remounted  at  White  House,  was  now  ready  for  the 
grand  movement  to  the  left. 

President  Lincoln,  the  Lieutenant-General,  Meade, 
Sherman,  and  Admiral  Porter  were  in  council  at  the 
modest  headquarters  of  the  armies  at  City  Point. 

The   strength   of  General   Grant's   combined  fore*}? 


ARMY  OF   THE   POTOMAC.  157 

was  estimated  at  140,000  effective  men,  while  that  of 
Lee  was  supposed  to  be  not  less  than  70,000.  It  is 
probably  near  enough  to  the  truth  to  say  that  this 
estimate  was  the  groundwork  upon  which  the  cam 
paign  was  based.  The  conception,  execution,  and 
result  of  the  operations  which  followed  will  probably 
be  considered  to  be  by  far  the  most  remarkable  and 
brilliant  feature  of  the  war.  With  the  evidence  made 
public  up  to  this  writing,  there  is  enough  to  show  that 
the  campaign  was  carefully  planned,  and  as  energet 
ically  carried  out.  One  writer  says,  "  The  battles  of 
April  1st  and  2d,  south  of  Petersburg,  were  necessary 
to  the  solution  of  the  strategic  problem.  The  object 
was  to  gain  a  position  on  the  right  flank  of  Lee,  in 
order  to  force  him  not  only  to  evacuate  Petersburg, 
but  to  compel  him  to  evacuate  it  in  such  a  way  that  he 
would  have  to  retreat  by  roads  on  the  north  side  of  the 
Appomattox  River.  By  the  success  of  these  battles, 
Lee  was  forced  north  of  the  river,  and  Grant  gained  a 
route  to  Burksville  Junction,  the  point  to  which  Lee 
intended  to  retreat,  running  parallel  to  that  of  the 
rebels,  separated  from  them,  a  great  part  of  the  dis 
tance,  by  a  river  much  shorter  and  without  any  natural 
obstructions  such  as  lay  in  Lee's  way.  Lee  had  to 
retreat  by  the  longer  route,  which  was  practically  made 


158  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

still  longer  by  the  necessity  of  recrossing  the  Appo- 
mattox.  The  consequence  was,  that  Grant  not  only 
reached  Burksville  Junction  by  the  time  Lee  reached 
Amelia  Court  House,  and  interposed  himself  as  an 
impassable  barrier  to  the  junction  of  Johnson  and  Lee, 
but  also  continually  presented  a  force  between  Lee  and 
Lynchburg.  By  keeping  this  force  '  thus  heading  Lee 
off,'  while  at  the  same  time  he  continually  attacked 
him  in  flank  and  rear,  Grant  forced  him,  on  the  sev 
enth  day,  to  surrender  his  whole  force.  From  the 
moment  of  occupying  Burksville,  Grant  held  Lee  in  a 
position  from  which,  if  defeated  in  battle,  he  had  no 
line  of  retreat.  He  was  forced  to  make  a  stand  in  a 
position  in  which,  had  he  given  battle,  he  would  have 
been  forced  to  an  unconditional  surrender  or  equally 
disastrous  dispersion." 

The  significance,  therefore,  of  the  following  letter, 
which  Grant  addressed  to  Lee,  will  be  at  once  appre 
ciated  :  "  The  result  of  the  last  week  must  convince 
you  of  the  hopelessness  of  further  resistance  on  the 
part  of  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  in  this  strug 
gle.  I  feel  that  it  is  so,  and  regard  it  as  my  duty  to 
shift  from  myself  the  responsibility  of  any  further 
effusion  of  blood,  by  asking  of  you  the  surrender  of 


ARMY   OF    THE    POTOMAC.  159 

that  portion  of  the  Confederate  States  Army  known  as 
the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia." 

It  is  well  known  that  the  army,  by  a  well-directed 
assault  upon  the  rebel  position  in  front  of  Petersburg, 
carried  their  works  on  Sunday  morning,  April  1,  and 
entered  that  city  in  triumph  on  that  day.     The  aban 
donment  of  Richmond  followed  immediately,  as  well 
as  the  evacuation  of  all  its  defences ;   and  the  rebel 
army  was  rapidly  moved  in  a  southerly  direction,  as 
before  described.     Through  Dinwiddie,  Nottaway,  and 
Appomattox    Counties    there    were    frequent    engage 
ments,  the  enemy  retiring  in  every  instance,  and  leav 
ing  their   dead   and  wounded    in   our  hands.      These 
were  scattered  over  sixty  miles  of  territory,  either  left 
upon  the  fields  or  hurriedly  moved  to  whatever  place 
of  shelter  presented  itself,  so  that  along  that  bloody 
track  of  war  every  wayside  church,  farm-house,  and 
barn  became  a  hospital.     The  country  was  electrified 
by  the  news ;   and  so  elated  were  men's  hearts  with 
the   grandeur  of  the   victory,   that  its  poor,  maimed, 
suffering   victims    were   for   the    moment    passed    by. 
Few  at  home  realized  the   suffering;   yet  I  think  it 
had  rarely  been  equalled  in  intensity  during  the  war, 
though  of  course  it  had  been  in  amount.     The  medical 
wagons  were  with  the  trains,  which  could  not  keep 


160  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN    THE 

pace  with  the  movements   of  the  army,   and  in  con 
sequence  there  was  great  destitution  of  supplies, 

Dr.  Dalton,  then  the  Medical  Director  of  the  Ninth 
Corps,  was  ordered  to  establish  a  hospital  at  Burks- 
ville,  and  to  gather  in  the  wounded  preparatory  to 
their  being  sent  to  City  Point  as  soon  as  railroad  com 
munication  could  be  opened.  He  reached  the  Junction 
with  no  supplies,  being  unable  at  the  moment  to  com 
mand  them ;  but  he  took  possession  of  every  house 
and  shed,  sent  out  his  wagons  foraging  through  the 
country,  and  in  a  few  hours  had  potatoes,  flour,  eggs, 
poultry,  pigs,  &c.,  in  abundance.  He  started  a  ba 
kery,  and  had  everything  as  nearly  ready  as  the  state 
of  things  would  admit  by  the  time  the  wounded  were 
brought  in. 

The  surgeons  were  with  their  regiments  forty  miles 
away,  and  but  few  could  be  reached  in  the  exigency. 
A  corps  was  therefore  organized  at  City  Point,  with 
orders  to  proceed  to  the  front;  and  joining  this  I 
started  in  one  of  the  first  trains  which  entered  the 
city  of  Petersburg  after  the  evacuation.  We  passed 
directly  through  the  abandoned  camps  and  works  of 
the  enemy,  saw  their  rifle-pits  and  fortifications,  their 
bomb-proofs,  abatis,  sunken  roads,  and  excavations,  — 
all  showing  a  high  order  of  engineering  skill,  and 


ARMY   OF    THE   POTOMAC. 


a,  perseverance  which  had   proved  well    nigh   uncon 
querable. 

The  lower  part  of  Petersburg  was  a  desolation. 
At  my  feet  were  the  debris  of  the  evacuating  army  : 
a  thousand  stands  of  arms  scattered  and  destroyed, 
—  gun-locks,  gun-barrels,  and  bayonets  ;  the  rolling 
stock  of  their  railroads  hopelessly  ruined,  —  cars, 
wheels,  bolts,  and  rails  warped  and  twisted  by  the 
fire.  The  town  was  apparently  but  little  injured  by 
the  siege,  although  it  has  been  stated  that  eight  hun 
dred  houses  were  more  or  less  scarred  by  the  iron 
rain.  A  few  buildings  were  entirely  destroyed  ;  roofs 
were  shattered  ;  gutters,  blinds,  and  windows  torn  from 
their  places,  or  bore  terrible  marks  of  the  conflict. 
The  people  looked  pinched  and  hungry.  They  had  a 
pale,  care-worn  look,  an  expression  of  suffering  and  of 
premature  age,  which  was  enough  to  show  that  the 
war  had  been  to  them  no  pastime. 

Moving  slowly  out  over  the  Southside  Road  with  a 
heavy  train  of  supplies,  we  passed  Sunderland's,  Farm- 
ville,  and  Ford's  Station,  —  the  scenes  of  recent  con 
flict,  —  and  reached  Wilson's  at  midnight,  where  we 
camped.  While  resting  here  a  column  of  prisoners 
reached  the  station,  and  went  into  bivouac  in  the  open 
fields  adjoining.  They  numbered  8500  men  and  8CO 


162  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN    THE 

officers,  the  corps  of  General  Ewell,  captured  by  Sher 
idan's  cavalry  and  the  Fifth  Corps.  Their  sick  and 
wounded  were  in  this  column,  which  had  been  marched 
twenty-five  miles  that  day  over  horrible  roads.  A 
strong  patrol  guard  was  placed  around  their  bivouac, 
and,  by  favor  of  the  officer  in  charge,  I  entered  their 
lines. 

Generals  Ewell,  Kershaw,  and  Custis  Lee,  Tucker 
and  Semmes  (of  the  rebel  navy),  witli  other  division 
and  brigade  commanders  and  their  respective  staffs, 
were  in  a  group  apart.  Finding  that  strangers  were 
welcome,  I  sat  by  their  fire  talking  of  their  campaign, 
of  the  prospects  of  General  Lee's  escape,  and  of  the 
general  crisis  of  the  war,  which  all  frankly  admitted 
was  at  hand. 

Ewell  appeared  infirm  and  prematurely  old.  A 
cripple,  he  moved  feebly  on  crutches,  and  had  the  air 
of  a  tired,  worn-out,  disappointed  man.  He  took  the 
best  view  of  his  capture;  said  his  men  would  not 
fight,  and  that  the  war  was  near  its  close.  The  days 
of  old  Stonewall  Jackson  were  over,  he  said ;  but  he 
believed  that  even  with  his  inspiration,  nothing  more 
could  have  been  done.  Speaking  of  the  Richmond 
conflagration,  the  results  of  which  he  had  not  heard, 
he  said,  "  I  acted  under  orders,  but  regret  that  those 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  163 

orders  did  not  include  Breckinridge,  who  should  have 
been  thrown  into  the  hottest  of  the  flames." 

Xershaw  seemed  a  model  soldier  in  look  and  bear 
ing.     Compact,  firm,  and  self-contained,  he  had  the 
manners  of  a  gentleman,  and  was,  perhaps,  the  most 
brilliant  man  of  the  party.     a  For  two  years  I  have 
doubted  the  justice  of  the  cause,"  said  he ;   "  but  my 
social  position  would  not  warrant  its  abandonment." 
Custis  Lee  was  reticent,  hardly  courteous,  haughty, 
soured,  and  ugly  in  spirit.     When  the  column  passed, 
one  ambulance  in  the  advance,  containing  this  group 
of  general  officers,  and  followed  by  the  800  of  lesser 
rank,  I  thought  of   the  prisoners  whom   the  Roman 
generals    brought    home    in    chains    to    grace    their 
entry  into  the  capital.     There  were  the  same  proud, 
defiant  bearing,  the  same  unconquered  and  unconquer 
able  spirit,  the  same  stateliness  atd  arrogance,  which 
no  disaster  or  defeat  could  move.     Here,  in  these  later 
days,  in  this  wilderness  of  desolation,  where  there  ar^ 
but  few  witnesses  of   their  humiliation,   where  thers 
were    no    shouts    of    triumph,    or   paeans   of    victory, 
marched   these  800,  followed   by  the  8000,   with   aa 
proud  a  bearing  as  if  they  were  indeed  the  victors, 
awaiting  the  crowns  of  laurel  and  the  plaudits  of  the 
world. 


1(54.  HOSPITAL   LIFE   IN   THE 

There  was  suffering  in  this  bivouac  which  needed 
instant  alleviation,  and  a  hospital  was  at  once  estab 
lished  for  the  sick.  They  were  marching  without 
tents,  and  with  but  few  blankets  to  protect  them  from 
the  rain.  The  storm  had  lasted  a  week ;  the  fields 
were  soaked  with  water,  which  also  covered  the  sur 
face  of  the  ground  —  the  only  resting-place  these  thou 
sands  of  men  could  claim.  In  groups  all  over  the 
closely  guarded  fields  these  prisoners  were  collected, 
cooking  their  now  liberal  rations  of  beef  and  coffee. 
Night  after  night  they  gathered  round  their  camp  fires, 
sleeping  in  the  soppy  grass,  chilled,  and  suffering  from 
the  cold  night  winds  of  the  season  ;  while  scattered 
all  through  the  ranks  were  men  who  were  in  the 
last  stages  of  exhaustion  by  exposure,  sickness,  and 
wounds.  Foot-sore  and  weary  came  forward  those 
who  were  to  go  into  hospital ;  and  I  never  saw  so 
utterly  pitiful  a  sight  as  these  poor,  squalid  creatures, 
on  fire  with  fever,  racked  with  chills  and  rheumatic 
pains,  and  emaciated  by  disease  and  want.  Many 
were  too  weak  to  stand,  and  were  obliged  to  rest 
upon  the  ground.  Their  condition  seemed  hopeless, 
and  for  such  numbers  we  had  no  hospital  accommo 
dations. 

Among  these  sick  and  wounded  men  was  one  who 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  165 

had  attracted  my  attention,  from  his  superior  intelli 
gence,  his  culture,  and  refinement,  which  were  in 
marked  contrast  to  the  repulsiveness  of  his  outer  garb. 
His  clothing  was  torn  and  threadbare,  his  pantaloons 
in  ribbcns  about  his  feet,  his  hat  without  a  brim,  his 
hair  bleached  and  tangled ;  and  from  a  recent  fall  on 
the  march  he  was  encased  in  mud.  Holding  out  his 
hand,  which  was  covered  with  a  stained  and  ragged 
handkerchief,  he  addressed  me,  and  asked  if  I  would 
amputate  his  fingers,  which  were  badly  mangled  by  a 
fragment  of  a  shell.  The  wound  had  not  been  dressed 
since  his  musket  was  shot  from  his  hands  nine  days 
before,  nor  had  the  steel  splinters,  been  extracted.  I 
removed  the  clotted  covering,  and  found  his  hand  in  a 
most  offensive  condition,  so  utterly  neglected  had  it 
been.  The  bones  were  uninjured,  and  with  proper 
care  the  h?,nd  might  yet  be  saved.  The  wound  was 
cleansed,  and  dressed  with  fresh  lint  and  bandages ; 
and  as  I  was  about  to  pass  on  to  another  case,  he  said, 
"  I  am  faint  for  want  of  food.  Can  you  get  me  some 
hard  tack?"  One  of  the  guard  at  his  camp  fire  cheer 
fully  took  from  his  haversack  his  ration  of  uncooked 
pork,  and  cut  a  libei-al  slice,  which  he  gave  me  with 
some  hard  bread.  I  took  it  to  my  rebel  soldier,  who 
ate  it  with  an  eager  appetite  and  a  thankful  smile, 


166  HOSPITAL   LIFE   IN   THE 

saying  that  if  I  knew  what  he  had  lived  upon  since  he 
started  on  the  campaign,  I  could  realize  how  near 
starvation  he  was.  Said  he,  "I  had  a  pint  of  corn, 
and  for  nine  days  that  was  my  only  food."  But,  look 
ing  back  to  a  luxurious  home,  he  said,  sadly,  "  I  have 
not  always  been  thus  reduced.  My  home  is  in  Sa 
vannah.  I  joined  a  battalion  of  our  young  men  in 
1861,  because  I  believed  in  the  southern  cause.  For 
three  years  I  fought  and  suffered,  a  private  soldier, 
until  at  last  my  eyes  were  opened  to  the  rapacity  of 
the  leaders  in  Richmond ;  and  I  have  been  longing  for 
the  old  flag  again.  There  are  but  few  of  us  left  now," 
said  he,  "  of  those  boys  who  went  out  in  '61  ;  and 
when  they  get  news  of  our  last  battle,  there'll  be 
mourning  in  Savannah,  for  they  were  her  choicest 
sons.  But  I  thank  God  the  war  is  over." 

His  father,  a  devoted  and  consistent  Union  man, 
now  the  collector  of  the  port  of  Savannah,  was  at  this 
time  in  Washington.  I  wrote  that  Henry  was  a  pris 
oner,  slightly  wounded.  A  few  weeks  from  this  time 
they  were  united,  after  this  separation  of  years  ;  and 
I  had  afterwards  the  satisfaction  of  taking  them  both 
by  the  hand,  and  receiving  their  kindly  attentions  in  a 
northern  city,  where  the  raw  pork  and  hard  tack  were 
recalled  as  the  most  delicious  of  luxuries. 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  167 


CHAPTER    XI. 

SUFFERINGS    AT  BUBKSVILLE. 

Scarcity  of  Surgeons.  —  Scenes  among  the  Wounded.  —  Engross 
ing  Experiences.  —  Overcrowded  Sheds  and  Railroad  Buildings. 
—  Amputations  in  the  Field.  —  Wounded  transferred  to  City 
Point.  —  Suffering  on  the  Trains.  —  Preparation  for  Death.  — 
Return  of  the  Army. 

THE  surgeons  with  whom  I  started  from  City  Point 
established  their  hospital  at  Wilson's  Station,  as 
before  stated,  instead  of  at  the  front,  where  they  were 
ordered  to  go.  They  had  an  ample  hospital  equipage, 
medical  stores  and  commissary  supplies  in  abundance, 
with  but  half  a  dozen  patients,  who  had  straggled  into 
their  camp,  while  a  few  miles  beyond  were  thousands 
who  were  suffering  for  the  very  stores  and  attention 
which  they  were  sent  to  supply.  The  railroad  was 
uncompleted  beyond  Wilson's,  and  the  trains  could 
not  therefore  run  farther ;  but  wagon  transportation 
could  have  been  obtained,  and  ought  to  have  been 
secured,  in  this  pressing  emergency  of  suffering. 


168  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

Leaving  my  companions,  I  pushed  on  alone  to  Burks- 
ville  with  a  few  private  stores,  and  found  wagon  and 
ambulance  trains  arriving  at  the  Junction  filled  with 
these  maimed  and  bleeding  men.  They  came  creep 
ing  slowly  over  the  hills,  as  if  to  soften  the  agonies  of 
such  transportation.  Every  shed  and  building  was 
filled  at  once.  The  men  were  laid  upon  the  ground 
under  the  shelter  of  brush,  in  freight  depots,  in  the 
open  air,  under  extemporized  roofs  of  rubber  blankets, 
the  mud  up  to  one's  knees,  and  the  moving  from  point 
to  point  almost  an  impossibility.  There  were  but  few 
surgeons,  and  these  were  overworked  at  the  operating 
tables,  while  three  thousand  men  were  lying  in  this 
squalid  suffering. 

In  two  or  three  open  sheds  and  in  one  railroad 
building  were  six  hundred  men  without  even  straw  for 
bedding,  and  no  blankets  to  protect  them  from  the 
rain  which  soaked  through  these  long  wards  of  misery. 
Dr.  Richardson,  who  was  in  charge  here,  ordered  milk 
punch  for  the  amputated  cases,  and  they  were  soon 
supplied.  Several  were  dying  ;  and  upon  the  spot  my 
brandy  flask  was  soon  in  use,  restoring  two  or  three 
sufficiently  to  get  from  them  their  names,  and  to  write 
some  last  message  to  their  friends.  In  one  row  were 
five  men  lying  on  the  hard  floor,  all  thigh  amputations, 


ARMY   OF   THE  POTOMAC.  169 

and  all  dying.  Two  of  them  were  conscious,  and 
were  able  to  gasp  out  some  last  words  for  wife  or 
mother,  which  were  written  quickly  down,  and  the 
letters  despatched,  telling  how  and  where  they  died. 
In  a  small  room,  partitioned  off  from  the  main  shed, 
were  three  hopeless  cases,  placed  there  that  they  might 
breathe  their  last  in  peace,  apart  from  the  no:se  and 
excitement  of  this  overcrowded  shed  —  one  with  a 
severe  shell  wound  through  both  hips,  another  with  an 
arm  and  shoulder  carried  away,  and  the  other  with  his 
jaw  and  face  terribly  shattered,  and  his  tongue  half 
gone.  Men  were  sitting  up  bathing  their  own  wounds, 
when  they  could  get  the  water,  or  were  helping  each 
other,  while  there  were  meanings  and  cries  for  help,  to 
all  of  which  it  was  impossible  to  respond.  When  the 
more  pressing  wants  were  met,  with  sponges,  rubber 
basin,  bandages,  and  lint,  there  was  enough  to  do. 

As  I  entered  one  of  these  buildings,  from  one  end 
to  the  other  there  were  cries,  "  Doctor,  O  doctor, 
come  and  dress  my  wound  !  "  "  Mine,  doctor,  mine  ! " 
"  Nobody  ever  comes  to  me  ;  dont*  pass  rr^  by  !  "  "I 
shall  die  if  I  cannot  get  some  water !  "  "  O,  if  you 
only  knew  how  I  suffer  !  "  "Do  dress  this  thigh,"  or 
arm,  or  log,  or  head,  —  each  one  proclaiming  his  own 
shattered  frame,  helpless  and  in  agony.  In  another 
8 


170  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

shed  were  two  hundred  rebel  wounded.  A  surgeon 
of  their  own  sat  there  and  smoked  his  pipe,  never 
showing  sympathy  enough  to  dress  a  single  wound,  so 
far  as  I  could  see,  while  our  own  soldiers  acted  as 
their  nurses,  treating  them  as  tenderly  as  they  could. 
One  poor  rebel,  with  a  thigh  amputation,  lying  in  a 
building  with  some  of  our  own  men,  in  answer  to  the 
question  whether  he  wished  to  be  removed  to  the  shed 
where  his  own  companions  were,  said,  u  We  are  all  of 
one  family  now  ;  these  are  my  brothers  as  much  as 
yours ;  let  me  stay  where  I  am ; "  while  I  could  see 
under  his  head  a  little  Testament,  which  he  had  been 
reading  in  this  very  hour  of  his  suffering  and  loneli 
ness,  having  the  new  revelation  of  that  wider  fellow 
ship  which  I  felt  he  was  so  soon  to  realize  in  another 
world.  In  one  corner  was  another  dying  man ;  and 
next  to  him  one  shot  through  both  eyes,  who  prayed 
for  his  release  ;  while  others,  who  in  their  very  agony 
were  crying,  "  Have  mercy,  O  Lord,  have  mercy  upon 
me  !  "  were  far  beyond  all  healing. 

After  several  days  the  railroad  was  opened,  and  it 
was  taxed  to  its  utmost  capacity  in  transferring  the 
wounded  to  City  Point.  There  were  long  trains  of 
twenty  freight  cars,  as  closely  packed  inside  as  the 
men  could  lie,  and  covering  every  foot  of  space  upon 


ARMY   OF   THE  POTOMAC.  171 

the  top,  with  no  blankets  or  straw  for  a  wounded  limb 
or  an  amputated  stump. 

In    this  train  was  work  for  fifty  pairs  of   hands. 
Their  wounds  were  throbbing  with  fever,  and  needed 
the  cooling  of  only  one  sponge  full  of  water.     There 
were  one  thousand  men ;   they  had  been  placed  in  the 
cars  in  the  early  afternoon,  and  were  to  have  started 
before   dark.     Many   would   not   live   to   reach    City 
Point,  and  their  last  hours  in  this  jolting  train  would 
necessarily  be  hours  of  keenest  suffering.     With  cold 
spring  water  I  went  through  each  car,  bathing  their 
heated  stumps.     It  was  dark,  and  there  were  no  signs 
of  starting.     For  hours  they  had  been  lying  in  this 
state  neglected,  and  upon   every  hand  the  men  were 
asking,  "  How  long,  O,  how  long,  must  we  lie  here?" 
It  was  heart-rending  to  pass  from  car  to  car  and  see 
their  condition,  to  hear  their  cries  for  even  a  cup  of 
water  to  moisten  their  lips,  or  a  drop  to  wet  their 
fevered  wounds,  and  to  see  their  silent  appeal  by  the 
holding  up  of  undressed  limbs.    The  surgeon  in  charge 
of  the  train  for  whom  these  thousand  were   waiting 
and  suffering,  was  found  at  midnight  in  a  comfortable 
room  half  a  mile  off,  enjoying  a  cigar  and  a  game  of 
euchre.     He   was  reported  to  the  Medical   Director. 
Even  this  faithless   surgeon  would  have  been  melted 


172  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

had  he  seen  their  gratitude  as  the  sponge  was 
squeezed,  and  the  cold  water  flowed  smoothly  over 
the  stiffened,  clotted  bandages,  softening  them,  and 
reaching  the  wound,  which  was  soothed  and  refreshed 
by  the  application  :  "  God  bless  you,  sir  !  "  "  O,  this 
is  so  cool ! "  "  I  shall  sleep  now  !  "  "  I  hope  you'll 
never  know  the  want  of  water?"  and  the  like.  The 
men  were  hungry,  and  had  had  nothing  since  their 
early  dinner  twelve  hours  before.  I  went  up  to  our 
tent,  built  fires,  had  large  "  containers "  of  beef  tea 
prepared,  and  gave  a  little  to  each,  also  filling  can 
teens,  and  supplying  other  needs  of  the  moment.  At 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  train  started  with  its 
living  freight  of  shattered,  suffering  men.  This  was 
hardly  over  before  a  long  train  of  army  wagons  of 
wounded,  just  from  the  field,  reached  the  camp.  Ba 
sins,  sponges,  bandages,  lint,  and  plaster  were  again  in 
requisition,  and  making  a  heavy  draught  upon  the 
medical  wagons.  Candles  gave  out,  and  we  were  left 
in  the  dark.  J-We  had  to  do  the  best  we  could,  the  men 
lying  on  the  ground  covered  only  by  tent  flies,  which 
hardly  shed  the  rain  ;  and  so  we  worked  until  morn 
ing,  dressing  and  feeding  men  who  for  five  days  had 
been  without  either  care  or  nourishment. 

As  the  days   passed,  and  the  wounded  arrived  in 


ARMY   OF    THE   POTOMAC.  173 

large  numbers,  more  ample  accommodation  was  pro 
vided.  Now  a  regular  field  hospital  was  established, 
w:.th  all  its  equipage ;  the  tents  arranged  in  streets 
were  all  trenched,  and  a  new  corps  of  surgeons  took 
charge,  fresh  and  ready  f:>r  their  work.  The  roughly- 
constructed  operating  tables  were  in  the  open  air,  and 
were  in  constant  use.  Resections,  probings,  and  am 
putations  went  on,  and  men  were  under  the  knife  from 
morning  to  evening,  and  often  until  candle-light.;  The 
days  passed  with  lightning  rapidity,  so  crowded  with 
engrossing  experiences  that  days  might  count  for  years 
from  the  abundance  of  life  which  was  lived  in  them. 

I  have  often  been  asked  if  men,  under  such  circum 
stances,  embrace  the  opportunity  to  prepare  for  death, 
when  death  seems  so  very  near.  My  experience  ac 
cords  so  completely  with  that  of  an  English  gentleman 
in  the  hospitals  at  Scutari,*  that  I  am  tempted  to 
quote  his  language,  which  is  very  much  to  the  point 
here. 

"  The  hospital  is  only,  after  all,  a  part  of  the  battle 
field  ;  it  is  a  crowd  of  those  who  have  fought,  and 
who,  fighting,  have,  through  wounds  or  weakness,  had 
to  fall  back  from  active  service  to  passive  suffering. 
They  are  still,  as  it  were,  in  the  ranks  ;  still  on  duty, 

*  Hon.  and  Rev.  Sydney  G.  Osborne. 


174  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN    2 HE 

to  recover,  to  return,  to  die,  or  to  be  invalided  at 
home. 

"  Men  in  the  field  speak  not  of  danger  ;  it  speaks  for 
itself,  and  none  are  deaf  to  it,  though  none  will  act  as 
though  they  heard  its  warning  voice.  Men  who  for 
many  weeks  have  lived  a  life  in  which  the  only  change 
from  the  privation  and  watchfulness  which  undermined 
their  strength,  was  the  call  to  action,  one  more  deadly 
than  another,  become  so  habituated  to  hold  life  cheap, 
are  so  thoroughly  wrapped  up  in  the  risk  at  which 
they  seek  the  honor  of  the  profession,  that,  as  in 
camp,  so  in  hospital,  death  is  an  ever-expected  guest, 
and  few  indeed  seek  to  make  special  preparation  for 
its  coming.  When  it  does  come  to  them  on  their  beds, 
it  is  still  a  soldier's  death  :  a  letter  or  two  may  be 
dictated  to  a  friend,  some  messages  sent  to  brother 
officers  ;  a  quick,  calm,  distribution  of  effects  at  hand 
made  ;  gratitude  expressed  to  those  who  so  kindly  ever 
support  their  brother  soldiers  in  those  moments  :  these, 
with  the  brief  services  the  chaplain  can  offer,  form  the 
chief  features  of  the  last  scene  in  the  lives  of  these 
brave  men.  It  is  a  battle-field  death  just  postponed 
till  the  victim  has  joined  in  the  hospital  ranks." 

At  this  time  the  army  was  returning  victorious. 
On  the  llth  of  April,  General  Grant  and  staff,  with 


ARMY   OF    THE   POTOMAC.  175 

three  of  his  corps  commanders,  dismounted  at  Burks- 
ville,  taking  the  cars  for  City  Point,  having  made  in 
the  saddle  thirty-five  miles  that  day.  They  came  iu 
as  quietly  and  calmly  as  if  they  had  been  out  on  an 
inspection  of  the  army,  instead  of  achieving  victories 
unparalleled  in  their  importance  in  our  history,  and 
ending  in  that  week  the  bloodiest  war  of  modern 
times. 

On  the  12th,  General  Sheridan,  with  his  forty  cap 
tured  flags,  followed  by  his  cavalry  and  artillery, 
received  the  plaudits  of  those  who  could  cheer  them 
as  they  passed.  On  the  13th,  at  sundown,  the  Sixth 
Corps  crossed  the  railroad  junction  at  Burksville, 
passed  out  through  the  hospital  encampment,  and 
bivouacked  on  the  hills  beyond.  They  had  marched 
eighteen  miles  in  six  hours,  over  horrible  roads,  but 
were  all  on  fire  with  enthusiasm,  cheering,  always 
victorious,  and  coining  in  almost  on  the  run.  The 
Second  Corps,  and  the  Fifth,  and  the  Ninth,  with  the 
Army  of  the  James,  followed  on,  their  work  com 
pleted,  the  problem  of  free  government  solved,  and  this 
nation  once  more  at  peace. 


176  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN   THE 


CHAPTER    XII. 

PETERSBURG   HOSPITALS. 

CLOSING   SCENES. THE   FAIR   GROUNDS. 

Contrasts.  —  The  Blooming  Gardens  of  Petersburg.  —  Mr.  J.  W. 
Paige,  Jr.  —  His  Work  at  the  Fair  Grounds.  —  Gangrene  Ward. 
—  The  Rebel  Soldier.  — His  Sufferings  and  Death. —The  Blue 
Ward.  —  The  Dying  Marylander.  —  Edward  Morley,  the  Mas 
sachusetts  Soldier.  —  Colonel  Prentiss. 

FROM  the  intense  sufferings  and  labors  in  the  over 
crowded  sheds  and  railroad  depots  at  Burksville, 
to  the  clean,  quiet,  and  comfortable  tents  and  barracks 
of  the  well-ordered  hospitals  at  Petersburg,  —  this  was 
the  contrast  which  twenty-four  hours  brought  me.  Re 
turning  with  the  feeling  that  peace  had  dawned,  that 
there  would  be  no  more  reeking  hospitals,  nor  deso 
lated  homes,  nor  broken  hearts ;  and  that  even  upon 
these  Virginia  fields  fruitful  harvests  would  spring  iu 
the  very  track  of  war,  —  flowers  even  upon  the  bat 
tle-field,  —  it  will  not  be  difficult  to  realize  that  in 


ARMY   OF    THE   POTOMAC.  177 

Petersburg  I  could  find  refreshment  in  the  beauty 
and  fragrance  of  its  gardens,  and  rest  in  the  quiet 
seclusion  of  its  groves  of  pines.  It  is  a  quaint  old 
city,  entirely  southern  in  its  style  and  architecture. 
The  verandas  covered  with  creeping  vines,  which  grow 
everywhere  in  magnificent  neglect,  were  bowers  of 
beauty.  Every  shrub,  and  tree,  and  flowering  bush, 
from  the  rose  and  the  magnolia  to  the  orange  and  the 
fig,  had  almost  a  tropical  luxuriance,  and  the  air  w?.s 
filled  with  the  aroma.  Many  of  the  residences  were 
deserted  ;  and  where  they  were  not,  we  had  cordial 
invitations  to  enter  at  their  open  gates  and  pick  the 
flowers.  The  pansy,  the  violet,  the  narcissus,  the 
double-flowering  almond,  the  exquisite  wisteria,  and 
the  lily  of  the  valley,  with  every  variety  of  buds  and 
roses,  —  these  filled  our  tent  with  fragrance.  All  this 
was  an  oasis  in  a  desert  of  suffering.  There  were  men 
all  about  us  who  were  at  the  very  last  ebb  of  life,  and 
before  the  night  passed  the  light  of  the  eternal  morn 
ing  dawned  for  them.  To  lose  one's  self  in  the  quiet 
peacefuluess  of  such  an  afternoon  was  indeed  a  relief 
after  such  a  tension  upon  mind  and  heart. 

At  this  point  Mr.  J.  W.  Paige,  Jr.,  of  Boston,  was 
in   charge  of  the  Sanitary  Commission.     In  his  tent 
under  the  magnificent  pines,  which  recalled  one  of  hk 
8  * 


.178  HOSPITAL    LIFE  IN   THE 

favorite  Italian  haunts,  and  which  gave  shade  to  the 
Fair  Grounds  Hospital,  I  found  him  engrossed  in  the 
most  laborious  duties  of  administration.  The  incom- 
petency  of  one  of  the  agents,  and  the  serious  illness  of 
another,  just  then  stricken  down  with  fever,  brought 
upon  him  a  wide  range  of  duties.  These  he  assumed 
and  carried  through,  with  a  quiet  energy  and  self- 
forgetting  devotion.  Obstacles  were  met  and  over 
come.  The  relations  between  the  Medical  Department 
and  the  Sanitary  Commission  were  harmonized  by  a 
quick  perception  and  no  little  diplomatic  skill,  which 
resulted  in  making  both  more  effective  than  either 
would  have  been  alone.  In  the  wards  his  gentleness 
and  skill  in  dressing  soothed  many  a  sufferer,  while  his 
cheerfulness  lightened  many  an  hour  of  loneliness  and 
pain.  Anticipating  the  capricious  appetites  of  the  sick 
est  men,  there  was  no  delicacy  which  the  markets  of 
Petersburg  could  afford  that  he  did  not  make  to  find 
its  way  to  the  wards,  daintily  prepared  on  his  little 
stove  in  the  open  air,  and  taken  to  the  soldier  whose 
feverish  palate  could  only  relish  such  delicate  fare. 

To  avoid  the  dangers  of  a  dreadful  infection,  the 
gangrene  ward  was  established  in  an  ice-house,  apart 
from  the  main  hospital.  Here,  where  the  most  loath 
some  and  hopeless  cases  were  awaiting  death,  where 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  179 

was  every  type  of  this  horrible  disease,  was  the  scene 
of  many  of  his  most  touching  ministries.  Here  were 
limbs  which  could  only  be  cleansed,  not  dressed ;  am 
putations  where  the  flaps  had  been  eaten  away,  and 
the  flesh  was  ragged  and  fallen  from  the  bone  ;  wounds 
into  wnich  the  gangrene  was  making  its  fearful  rav 
ages  day  by  day  —  a  charnel-house,  indeed,  where  was 
opportunity  for  such  service  as  is  rendered  at  the  bed 
of  death,  when  the  sufferer  is  past  all  healing. 

"  Make  them  as  comfortable  as  you  can ;  they  will 
see  no  hope  this  side  the  grave,"  said  the  kind-hearted 
surgeon  ;  and  however  nauseous  the  air,  or  offensive 
the  work,  our  friend  labored  cheerfully  on,  making  the 
poor  fellows  feel  that  the  greatest  favor  to  him  was 
simply  to  permit  him  to  continue  his  ministry.  Thus 
through  the  broiling  heat  of  an  early  summer  there 
was  this  noble  fidelity  to  his  work,  which  won  the  love 
and  respect  of  all  who  were  brought  into  relations  with 
him. 

In  the  intervals  of  resting  from  little  attentions  to  a 
poor,  lonely  boy,  a  rebel  soldier  who  was  dying,  I  took 
up  pen  and  paper  to  write,  while  sitting  at  his  bedside. 
Let  us  look  into  the  ward.  The  wound  has  just  been 
dressed,  the  hemorrhage  stopped,  the  bottles,  basin, 
syringe,  sponge,  and  water  cleared  away.  He  is 


180  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN    THE 

sleeping  easily  now.  A  bright-eyed,  handsome,  intelli 
gent  lad  of  seventeen,  I  was  attracted  to  him  by  the 
uncomplaining  patience  with  which  he  bore  his  suffer 
ings.  He  was  in  the  Confederate  army,  but  was  one 
of  those  who  would  never  be  called  a  rebel,  bein"-  a 

O 

conscript,  and  at  heart  loyal  to  his  flag.  He  was  a 
Virginian,  the  son  of  a  poor  minister  in  one  of  those 
scattered  settlements  on  the  Southside  Railroad ;  and 
from  occasional  conversations  I  had  gleaned  scraps 
of  private  history,  which  could  only  increase  my  kind 
feeling  for  him.  In  September,  1864,  working  quietly 
on  his  father's  farm,  a  mere  boy,  he  was  seized  in  a 
merciless  conscription,  and  hurried  to  Richmond,  where 
he  was  placed  in  the  ranks  of  the  rebel  army.  He 
was  an  only  child ;  and,  although  he  confessed  to 
many  short-comings,  he  knew  that  he  was  the  only 
comfort  of  his  home,  and  told  me  of  his  mother's 
grief  when  he  went  away.  His  wound,  to  all  out 
ward  seeming,  was  slight,  being  between  the  shoul 
ders,  and  hardly  showing  a  bruise.  The  shell  had 
cut  his  clothing,  and  but  just  touched  the  spinal  col 
umn  ;  but  it  had,  however,  paralyzed  the  lower  part 
of  his  body,  so  that  his  condition  was  one  of  great 
helplessness.  A  bed  sore  soon  developed  itself;  and 
it  increased  with  such  rapidity,  that  all  thought  that 


ARMY   OF    THE   POTOMAC.  181 

his  life  was  only  hanging  by  a  thread.  As  I  stood  by 
him,  he  opened  his  eyes,  and  said  to  me,  in  the  most 
distressed  way,  "  I  cannot  open  my  mouth ; "  and, 
upon  examination,  I  found  that  he  had  the  lockjaw, 
to  add  to  his  dreadful  sufferings.  "An  hour  ago  I 
could  laugh  and  sing,"  he  said ;  u  but  now  I  know 
that  I  must  die."  The  surgeon,  being  called,  confirmed 
the  impression  that  his  case  was  hopeless ;  and  we 
determined  that,  at  whatever  cost,  his  last  hours 
should  be  undisturbed.  Bay  rum  seemed  to  refresh 
him ;  and  I  bathed  and  rubbed  his  head,  and  chest, 
and  arms,  the  poor  fellow  expressing  his  gratitude  by 
word  and  look,  saying  to  me,  "  You  are  the  best 
friend  I  ever  had,"  and  repeating  it  over  and  over 
again. 

After  a  few  moments  of  dreamy  repose,  he  opened 
his  eyes,  and  said,  "  Do  you  really  think  that  I  am 
going  to  die  ?  I  do  not  want  to  die."  I  told  him  that 
his  condition  was  very  critical,  and  that  we  all  felt 
that  he  could  not  continue  very  long.  "  I  have  been 
trying  to  make  my  mind  up  to  it,"  he  said ;  u  but  it  is 
so  hard,  and  I  am  afraid  to  die.  I  have  put  off  my 
repentance  until  it  is  too  late  —  too  late  ;  and  now  I 
know  that  God  will  not  receive  me."  I  told  him  that 
it  could  never  be  too  late,  and,  if  he  really  wished 


182  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN    THE 

to  be  forgiven,  and  would  only  open  his  heart  to  all 
holy  influences,  that  God  would  send  his  peace  and 
pardon  down,  and  would  receive  him  just  as  kindly 
and  as  lovingly  as  an  earthly  father  would  if  he  were 
to  grieve  or  trouble  him.  He  seemed  to  feel  that  God 
never  could  care  for  him;  that  his  face  was  turned 
away,  and  that  all  his  prayers  and  intercessions  were 
in  vain.  Then  I  tried  to  make  him  feel  how  large  a 
place  there  must  be  in  the  Father's  heart  for  all  such 
poor,  suffering  children  as  he  ;  how  rich  and  abundant 
his  merciful  care  ;  how  inexhaustible  his  love.  I  told 
him  that  even  the  birds  of  the  air  and  the  flowers  of 
the  field  were  not  beneath  his  notice  ;  that  not  even  a 
sparrow  could  fall  without  his  seeing  it ;  so  that  in 
his  own  fear  and  suffering  this  Father  was  nearer  to 
him  than  any  earthly  father  could  be  ;  and  that  heaven 
was  open  to  him,  and  all  sweet  and  blessed  influences 
were  around  him,  if  he  could  only  receive  them  as 
from  a  Father's  hand.  Then  I  repeated  to  him  the 
little  psalm,  "  Bow  down  thine  ear,  O  Lord,  for  I  am 
poor  and  needy,"  with,  "  The  Lord  is  my  Shepherd, 
.  .  .  and  though  I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the 
shadow  of  death,  I  will  fear  no  evil,  for  thou  art  with 
me  ;  thy  rod  and  thy  staff,  they  comfort  me."  Then 
followed  Christ's  invitation,  "  Come  unto  me,  all  ye 


ARMY   OF    THE    POTOMAC.  183 

that  labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you 
rest ;  take  my  yoke  upon  you,  and  learn  of  me,  for  I 
am  meek  and  lowly  of  heart,  and  ye  shall  find  rest 
unto  your  souls ;  for  my  yoke  is  easy  and  my  burden 
is  light."  Then  I  repeated  a  part  of  the  chapter, 
"  Let  not  your  heart  be  troubled,"  with  those  other 
words,  so  beautiful,  so  rich  in  their  promises,  "  Peace 
1  leave  with  you,  my  peace  I  give  unto  you  ;  let  not 
your  heart  be  troubled,  neither  let  it  be  afraid." 

And  now,  in  that  lonely,  quiet  hour,  there  seemed 
to  be  a  Presence  which  glorified  everything  about  us 
—  a  spiritual  uplifting,  a  deep  revealing,  which  the 
repetition  after  me  of  the  Lord's  prayer  seemed  to 
make  all  the  more  real.  This  was  hardly  audible  to 
any  but  ourselves,  although  in  the  ward  perfect  still 
ness  reigned,  the  men  all  vaguely  comprehending  the 
subject  of  our  communion. 

Here  was  a  young  man  dying.  With  strong  tenacity 
he  held  to  life,  shrinking  from  what  he  called  his  doom. 
His  distress  of  mind  was  such  as  I  had  never  seen. 
His  old  theological  teaching  had  told  him  that  he  must 
have  a  change  of  heart,  or  he  could  not  be  saved ;  and 
he  was  too  weak  to  understand  the  process,  or  to  know 
where  to  begin,  or  what  to  do.  He  was  in  despair. 
There  was  no  sense  of  God's  loving  presence  ;  and  so 


184  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN    THE 

he  must  die,  feeling  that  the  eleventh  hour  was  too 
late,  and  shrinking  from  his  fate.  I  had  never  before 
attempted  to  minister  to  such  a  case.  In  most  pitiable 
tones  of  distress  he  would  murmur,  "  Lord  Jesus,  save 
my  soul ; "  while  in  this  great  gulf  of  sorrow  I  could 
only  meet  him  with  the  Saviour's  words,  hardly  trust 
ing  to  my  own,  yet  ever  hoping  and  watching  for  the 
incoming  and  indwelling  of  that  peace  which  should 
surpass  all  human  understanding.  And  I  seemed  to 
see  it  come  at  last,  as  the  angel  hovered  over  him,  and 
as  perfect  love  had  cast  out  fear.  From  a  quiet  sleep 
he  woke  calm  and  perfectly  resigned.  Spiritual  things 
became  more  real  to  him,  and  he  looked  with  a  clearer 
faith  and  a  more  simple  trust  to  the  end  which  we 
all  felt  was  very  near.  A  day  or  two  before,  I  had 
written  to  his  father  to  come  and  see  his  dying  son. 
Through  the  kindness  of  a  soldier  the  letter  reached 
him,  and  one  afternoon,  just  at  dusk,  he  came.  Al 
though  there  was  the  quiet  joy  of  their  meeting,  yet 
in  that  sad  place  it  was  a  sad  sight  to  see  this  poor 
gray-haired  man  —  subdued,  crushed  by  suffering,  im 
poverished  by  the  war  —  sitting,  hour  after  hour,  by 
his  son,  who  was  dying  by  the  slow  torture  of  lockjaw 
and  of  the  poison  of  his  wound.  The  subtle  fever  was 
burning  his  strength  away ;  and  as  the  father  watched 


ARMY  OF    THE   POTOMAC.  185 

and  waited  with  his  boy,  smoothing  the  hair  upon  the 
pillow,  wiping  the  drops  upon  his  forehead,  or  fanning 
him  with  only  a  scrap  of  paper  then  at  hand,  there 
was  so  much  tenderness  in  his  eye,  such  silent,  speech 
less,  tearless  sorrow,  that  I  could  only  leave  them 
together,  —  the  son  so  happy  now,  the  father  so  thank 
ful  that  even  this  boon  had  been  vouchsafed  him,  and 
both  knit  together  in  this  last  communion  and  com 
panionship  of  their  lives.  And  thus  the  night  passed 
and  morning  came ;  and  as  the  hours  wore  on,  he 
seemed  to  suffer  more  and  more.  His  body  twitched 
nervously  with  pain,  his  jaws  were  set,  his  limbs  grew 
cold,  and  his  lips  white  ;  but  there  was  no  more  mur 
muring.  He  lay  serenely  conscious  that  death  was 
calling  him,  and  at  last  he  answered  the  call,  passing 
through  the  valley  without  a  struggle,  leaving  this 
poor  father  to  go  back  alone  to  his  stricken  and  child 
less  home. 

One  evening,  just  at  twilight,  I  went  into  our  blue 
ward  at  the  Fair  Grounds,  Petersburg,  to  see  a  lad 
whose  condition  for  many  days  had  led  us  to  believe 
that  he  could  not  continue  very  long.  As  I  sat  by  his 
side,  and  placed  my  hand  upon  his  forehead  to  smooth 
back  his  hair,  he  said  to  me,  "  Do  you  know,  sir,  that 
I  am  looking  death  in  the  face  ?  "  I  could  only  reply, 


186  HOSPITAL   LIFE   IN   THL 

"  Yes,  I  know  you  are,  my  dear  boy  ;  "  for  the  re 
peated  hemorrhage  of  his  wound  had  convinced  me 
that  his  recovery  was  beyond  a  possibility.  He  was 
perfectly  submissive  and  trustful.  He  was  ready  to 
die,  or  he  was  willing  to  live,  —  as  it  should  please  the 
all-loving  Father ;  and  as  I  had  seen,  hour  after  hour, 
an  attendant  stanching  the  blood  which  was  trickling 
from  his  wound,  I  could  only  feel  that  we  were  to 
count  the  hours  before  we  should  have  to  lay  him  in 
his  grave.  He  had  been  a  faithful  soldier  for  three 
years,  and  had  been  discharged.  The  old  farm  had 
no  charms  for  him  ;  and  after  the  excitements  of  the 
home  greetings  had  passed,  he  went  as  a  substitute 
back  to  the  army,  receiving  a  large  bounty  at  the 
hands  of  the  brokers.  Then  followed  days  of  what 
may  well  be  termed  sin.  We  need  to  throw  a  veil  of 
charity  over  this  part  of  the  story ;  for  although  he 
had  wandered  far  away,  he  had  fallen  into  the  hands 
of  devils  in  human  shape,  who  drugged  him,  and 
robbed  him  of  his  money  ;  while  all  the  time,  in  his 
heart  of  hearts,  he  was  true.  And  now  he  was  suffer 
ing,  perhaps  dying,  for  the  cause  he  had  loved  so  well. 
He  told  me  how  deep  his  valley  of  humiliation  had 
been  ;  that  his  struggle  was  all  alone  ;  that  through 
sleepless  days  and  nights  he  had  been  praying  foi 


ARMY   OF   THE    POTOMAC.  187 

God's  gracious,  helping  spirit,  until  at  last  the  burden 
had  been  lifted  off,  and  now  all-sustaining  faith  and 
promises  had  been  made  real ;  and  the  trouble,  and 
doubt,  and  terror  of  the  grave  were  all  lost  in  the 
opening  glory.  When  I  went  away,  leaving  him  to 
others'  care,  it  was  with  the  feeling  that  he  would  not 
be  a  care  to  anybody  very  long,  —  hoping  only  that  his 
mother's  letter  would  come,  to  bring  its  solace  to  him 
before  he  died. 

In  such  ministries  as  these  the  days  were  spent ;  and 
yet,  when  night  came  on,  and  left  us  to  a  retrospect, 
there  was  the  sense  of  how  little  we  had  really  done. 
Often  hours  would  pass  in  sitting  by  the  bedside  of  a 
soldier,  simply  watching  and  waiting  for  a  change  ; 
giving  a  sip  of  porter  once  in  a  while  ;  brushing  a  fly 
off  his  face  when  he  was  disturbed ;  shading  his  eyes, 
or  fanning  him  ;  answering  only  when  he  spoke,  and 
keeping  always  quiet  that  he  might  sleep. 

A  fatal  wound  through  the  right  lung  had  laid  one 
noble  fellow  low  ;  and  his  last  hours  were  hours  of 
suffering.  I  had  previously  gained  the  young  man's 
confidence,  and  had  learned  his  story ;  and  when  it 
had  fallen  to  me  to  tell  him  that  he  could  not  live, 
he  seemed  perfectly  ready  and  willing  to  die,  —  being 
calm,  hopeful,  and  believing.  He  died  almost  in  mv 


188  HOSPITAL   LIFE   IX    THE 

arms,  leaving  his  messages  for  loved  ones  at  home, 
which  it  was  my  duty  to  communicate  by  letter. 

From  his  bed  I  go  to  that  of  another  —  a  little  boy 
of  but  fourteen  years,  very  low  with  chronic  diarrhoea. 
I  had  rarely  seen  such  agony  of  suffering.  The  poor 
little  fellow,  so  wan  and  thin,  his  face  so  pale  and 
wasted,  his  vital  power  so  nearly  exhausted,  and  his 
whole  condition  making  such  an  appeal  to  one's  ten- 
derest  sympathy,  —  so  lonely  away  from  his  mother 
and  his  home,  —  knew  he  was  going  to  die,  yet  had  no 
conception  of  the  change.  He  passed  on  as  I  stood  at 
his  bedside. 

And  another  case,  Edward  Morley,  a  lad  from 
Westfield,  Massachusetts,  lying  in  agony  in  a  wrard 
near  my  tent.  His  wound  was  a  compound  fracture 
of  the  thigh.  He  was  too  weak  for  an  amputation, 
his  hemorrhage  requiring  the  constant  pressure  of  a 
finger  upon  the  femoral  artery,  and  the  poor  fellow 
was  suffering  beyond  all  hope  of  relief.  He  was  one 
of  the  noble  spirits  of  the  army  —  a  genuine  soldier, 
with  as  fine  a  face  and  as  clear  an  eye,  and  with  as 
kindly  and  thoughtful  expression  as  one  would  wish 
to  see.  He  spoke  but  seldom,  giving  but  little  expres 
sion  to  his  feelings  ;  but  his  thoughts  were  constantly 
of  those  who  would  be  left  at  home  to  mourn.  He 


ARMY  OF   THE  POTOMAC.  189 

was  tranquil  and  resigned,  and  even  cheerful  at 
times  when  a  comrade  came  to  his  bed  to  talk  with 
him. 

When  I  communicated  the  result  of  a  consultation 
to  him,  he  simply  replied,  u  Do  not  think  that  I  am 
afraid  to  die.  At  home  I  was  surrounded  by  every 
religious  influence.  Since  my  mother's  death  I  have 
had  the  memory  of  her  love  to  keep  me  true,  and  I 
know  that  she  will  welcome  me  up  there."  At  his 
request  I  repeated  the  psalm,  "  The  Lord  is  my 
Shepherd."  Before  it  was  finished,  his  large,  deep 
eyes  opened  and  looked  into  mine,  and  tears  formed 
and  rolled  down  his  cheeks  at  the  passage,  "  Though 
I  walk  through  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,  I 
will  fear  no  evil,  for  thou  art  with  me ;  thy  rod  and 
thy  staff,  they  comfort  me."  I  felt  that  he  was  lean 
ing  upon  that  rod  and  staff,  as  he  looked,  in  the  midst 
of  all  his  sufferings,  with  a  clear  and  living  faith  unto 
the  end. 

He  had  been  in  the  service  four  years,  and  was  then 
but  twenty ;  but  the  lines  of  suffering  were  cut  deep 
into  his  face  ;  and  as  he  lay  there  so  patiently,  with 
such  sweet  resignation  to  his  Father's  will,  the  whole 
ward  seemed  to  be  lighted  with  the  triumph  of  his 
closing  hours.  He  did  not  seem  to  demand  my  sym- 


190  HOSPITAL    LIFE    IN    THE 

pathy,  although  he  had  it  all ;  he  only  wanted  com 
panionship,  and  he  asked  not  to  be  left  alone,  but  to 
have  me  sit  by  his  bed  and  watch  with  him  through 
the  night.  But  he  did  not  need  even  this,  unless  I 
was  to  sit  and  keep  a  lonely  vigil  over  his  tenantless 
body ;  for  of  a  sudden  he  died,  hardly  gasping,  yet  con 
scious  to  the  end. 

In  one  of  our  wards  we  had  an  officer,  Colonel  Clif 
ton  J.  Prentiss,  of  Baltimore,  whose  case  was  of  such 
peculiar  and  touching  interest  that  it  ought  not  to  be 
passed  by.  In  one  of  the  closing  battles  of  the  war 
he  was  wounded  through  the  lungs.  When  I  first 
saw  him,  he  was  brought  into  the  hospital  from  the 
field,  as  we  thought,  fatally  hurt.  At  the  same  time 
a  lad,  a  rebel  soldier,  was  lifted  from  the  stretcher 
upon  an  adjoining  bed,  with  a  thigh  amputation,  hav 
ing  been  struck  by  a  fragment  of  a  shell  above  the 
knee.  This  Union  officer  and  this  rebel  soldier  lay 
side  by  side,  not  knowing  that  they  were  indeed  own 
brothers,  and  unconscious,  in  all  that  bloody  strife 
which  had  set  its  fatal  seal  upon  them  both,  that 
they  had  been  striking  the  one  against  the  other,  and 
falling  but  ten  feet  apart.  And  so,  by  some  blessed 
providence,  they  were  brought  together  at  last,  —  the 
glance  of  an  eye,  or  some  well-known  tone  of  voice, 


AEMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  191 

making  their  recognition  complete,  which  it  only 
needed  the  hand-grasp  to  confirm.  In  the  early  stages 
of  their  wounds,  two  of  their  brothers  —  one  of  whom 
neither  had  seen  for  eight  years  —  came  down  to  nurse 
and  watch  with  these  other  two,  who  were  dying  so  far 
from  home.  And  through  the  months  which  followed 
they  were  all  united,  these  four,  who  had  been  so 
widely  separated,  bound  together  by  the  ties  of  sym 
pathy,  and  service,  and  brotherly  affection. 

And  now  they  are  both  at  rest :  Billy  —  the  kindly 
impulsive  boy  —  and  his  noble  brother  united,  after 
such  a  fearful  separation  of  sacrifice  and  of  blood,  in 
this  last  companionship  of  their  lives,  —  both  entering 
the  new  home,  where  there  is  no  distinction  between 
the  blue  jacket  and  the  gray. 

The  younger  died  first.  Day  after  day  we  used  to 
visit  him  in  the  quiet  ward  where  he  seemed  to  be  so 
much  alone,  for  he  had  but  little  sympathy  until  he 
was  converted  over  to  the  old  flag  which  he  had  for 
saken.  And  when  the  memories  of  his  home  and  his 
early  companionships  came  over  him,  and  he  felt  that 
even  this  renewal  of  old  ties  was  still  but  a  fraternal 
estrangement,  his  boy's  heart  quite  gave  way,  and  he 
begged  for  the  kindly  smile  of  this  elder  brother,  for 
the  love  and  generous  sympathy  of  their  boyhood.  In 


192  HOSPITAL   LIFE  IN   THE 

a  few  weeks  the  exhaustion  of  his  system  was  so  com 
plete  that  he  sank  rapidly  away  and  died. 

The  brave  and  all-enduring  colonel  lived  on,  —  every 
breath  a  stab,  and  every  movement  of  the  poor  frail 
body  like  the  tension  and  snapping  of  some  cord  of  life. 
Through  many  weary  months  he  waited  and  suffered. 
Life  had  much  in  store  for  him.  He  longed  to  be 
again  amid  its  peaceful  activity ;  yet  he  was  always 
submissive,  and  only  looked  to  see  what  was  the  lov 
ing  Father's  will.  And  that  will  was  revealed  at  last, 
giving  him  but  time  to  say,  "It  is  well ;  I  am  ready 
to  go." 

Enriched  arid  strengthened  by  discipline,  —  a  true 
growth  from  sacrifice  and  suffering,  —  his  was  a  death 
which  has  caused  many  a  heartache  outside  the  circle 
of  his  home.  His  earlier  years  were  spent  in  Mary 
land,  where  he  had  all  the  advantage  of  the  best  cul 
ture  and  training  which  his  father's  school  could  give, 
which  were  superior,  probably,  to  those  of  any  similar 
establishment  in  the  State.  The  elegant  accomplish 
ments  of  the  father,  his  careful  discipline,  his  scholarly 
tastes  and  habits,  together  with  the  genial  influences 
of  his  home,  all  joined  in  the  ripening  of  a  character 
which  it  only  needed  such  an  experience  as  that  of  the 
past  four  years  to  develop  into  a  manhood  at  once 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  193 

strong,  harmonious,  and  beautiful.  He  was  a  devout, 
earnest,  and  faithful  man  ;  ready  always  for  kind  offices 
for  those  about  him,  breathing  a  spirit  of  helpfulness 
and  service,  when,  by  whatever  sacrifice,  he  could  do 
anything  for  another.  This  spirit  of  self-forgetting 
lingered  about  him  to  the  end.  Upon  the  little  table 
by  his  humble  hospital  bed  lay  his  Bible,  his  constant 
companion.  The  sharp  discipline  of  suffering  was  not 
without  its  heavier  and  darker  clouds  ;  yet  through  the 
gloom  the  light  ineffable  of  trust  and  peace  was  stream 
ing  in,  giving  diviner  beauty  to  the  spirit  which  could 
answer  cheerfully  to  the  angel's  call. 
9 


194  HOSPITAL   LIFE    /AT    THE 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN. 

Effect  of  the  Assassination  in  the  Army.  —  His  Character  and 
Position  in  History. 

THE  Army  of  Northern  Virginia  had  capitulated. 
Its  last  banner  was  lowered  and  trailing,  its  arms 
and  artillery  had  been  stacked  and  parked,  its  organi 
zation  forever  destroyed.  General  Grant  had  returned 
to  City  Point,  the  war  virtually  at  an  end.  The  Army 
of  the  Potomac  was  resting  upon  its  laurels,  with  only 
magnanimity  for  its  old  enemy,  while  men  of  every 
grade  and  rank  were  freely  living  over  old  scenes  and 
fighting  over  old  battles,  mingling  their  common  mem 
ories  of  victory  and  defeat,  as  it  had  alternated,  in  our 
history. 

There  was  good  cheer  everywhere.  The  rank  and 
file  of  the  rebel  army,  dispersing  to  their  homes,  filling 
the  roads  and  swarming  through  the  fields,  shared  the 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  195 

hospitalities  of  our  soldiers,  and  were  treated  with  a 
kindly  and  liberal  spirit. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  triumph  and  rejoic 
ing  of  the  nation  were  changed  to  mourning  and  deso 
lation.  Abraham  Lincoln  was  dead !  A  great  sorrow 
clouded  the  bri  £ -htcess  of  the  glory  which  for  the  mo 
ment  had  burst  upon  the  people,  and  a  nation  was  in 
tears.  The  booming  cannon,  the  craped  and  drooping 
flag,  the  dirges  of  the  bands,  and  the  tolling  of  the 
bells  were  the  sounds  and  signs  of  national  grief.  The 
army  was  profoundly  moved.  A  reaction,  which  made 
Confederate  soldiers  tremble,  followed  the  assassina 
tion,  and  arrogance  melted  into  humility. 

With  all  generous  motives  for  those  with  whom  he 
had  been  contending,  Abraham  Lincoln  could  utter 
these  words,  already  embalmed  in  the  memory  of  the 
world :  "  With  malice  towards  none,  with  charity  for 
all,  with  firmness  in  the  right  as  God  gives  us  to  see 
the  right,  let  us  strive  on  to  finish  the  work  we  are  in  ; 
to  bind  up  the  nation's  wounds  ;  to  care  for  him  who 
shall  have  borne  the  battle,  And  for  his  widow  and  his 
orphans  ;  to  do  all  which  may  achieve  a  just  and  last 
ing  peace  among  ourselves  and  with  all  nations." 

And  yet,  with  this  gentle  pleading  for  his  enemies, 
there  was  one  standing  at  his  side  to  strike  him  down. 


196  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN    THE 

Through  Mr.  Lincoln's  greatest  trials,  through  the 
most  perplexing  periods  of  his  administration,  when 
perils  thickened  about  his  path,  I  could  only  think  of 
the  burden  which  rested  upon  his  mind  and  heart.  He 
once  said,  "  I  do  not  know  how  this  war  will  end ; 
but  I  do  know  that,  end  as  it  may,  I  shall  not  long 
survive  it." 

One  who  knew  him  well,  said  that  he  broke  down, 
time  and  again,  under  his  weighty  cares ;  "  his  noble 
face  became  haggard  and  weary,  and  nothing  but  the 
strong  will  and  the  undergrowth  of  gnarled  manhood 
prevented  him  from  going  down  to  his  grave."  A 
feeling  of  personal  loyalty  went  out  instinctively  to 
meet  him.  If  there  was  blindness  to  his  errors  when 
he  made  them,  there  was  also  the  thought  of  the 
unparalleled  dangers  and  difficulties  of  his  position, 
of  those  graver  problems  of  public  policy,  for  which 
there  was  no  precedent,  which  he  was  called  upon  to 
solve. 

The  life  of  a  Republic  was  in  his  keeping ;  and 
although  an  unknown,  untried  man,  the  eternal  prov 
idence  of  God  was  over  him  ;  and  from  his  simple 
;;rust  came  the  inspiration  and  the  strength  for  the 
fulfilment  of  his  lofty  destiny.  His  greatness,  his  per 
fect  balance  of  character,  his  wisdom,  calmness,  mag- 


ARMY  OF   THE   POTOMAC.  197 

Tianimity,  and  tenderness  of  heart,  vindicated  itself  at 
last,  and  he  won  the  world's  respect  and  honor.  A 
faithful  worker  for  his  country's  weal,  persevering  in 
his  task,  true  to  his  great  trust,  he  wore  his  honors 
with  humility  and  prayerfulness.  He  ruled  in  truly 
regal  majesty,  for  he  ruled  in  justice  tempered  with 
mercy.  His  education,  such  only  as  the  rough,  pio 
neer  life  of  a  wilderness  could  afford,  was  yet  such  as 
to  make  him,  perhaps,  the  central  figure  of  modern 
history.  Devoting  himself  with  singleness  of  purpose 
to  his  stupendous  work,  he  labored  for  the  highest 
aims ;  and  in  working  got  but  little  of  what  most  men 
work  to  get.  Still,  he  attained  what  but  few  men  have 
ever  reached  —  the  symmetrical  development  of  pow 
ers  which  in  a  great  crisis  of  his  country's  life  raised 
him  to  be  first  in  that  country's  love ;  and  he  so 
worked  and  lived,  that  in  his  proudest  moments  of 
triumph  he  never  forgot  his  humble  birth,  his  hard- 
handed  toil,  his  sympathy  with  the  people  whom  he 
alw&ys  carried  in  his  heart.  Such  majesty  with  such 
simplicity !  such  power  with  such  self-forgetfulness ! 
His  natural  dignity  was  mingled  with  unfailing  play 
of  humor,  while  his  almost  grotesque  ungainliness  of 
look  and  stature  did  not  derogate  from  the  nobility  of 
his  manhood. 


198  HOSPITAL    LIFE   IN    THE 

In  the  great  and  closing  triumphs  of  the  war  he  did 
not  forget  the  men  who  had  achieved  them.  How 
beautiful  was  the  spirit  with  which  he  visited  the 
hospitals  but  a  week  before  he  died !  Standing  at 
every  bedside,  he  had  a  kindly  word  and  smile  for 
every  man,  speaking  to  every  soldier  in  the  camp, 
and  cheering  them  all  by  his  genial  presence  and  his 
encouraging  words.  How  benignant  a  close  to  his 
public  career !  With  what  reverence  these  thousands 
of  crippled  men  will  regard  his  name,  enshrining  it 
with  all  affectionate  loyalty  in  their  hearts  and  mem 
ories  forever ! 

It  seemed  as  if,  in  the  bolt  of  the  assassin,  the 
national  life  received  the  last  test  to  which  republican 
government  could  be  subjected.  Aside  from  the  public 
grief,  the  national  functions  were  undisturbed.  A  con 
tinent  was  draped  in  mourning,  yet  the  vitality  of  its 
government  was  unimpaired.  In  our  history  no  event 
had  created  such  universal  prostration.  The  loyal 
North,  appalled  by  the  catastrophe,  found  expression 
for  its  grief  only  in  silent  "  going  about  the  streets." 
It  was  a  day  when  the  sun  and  the  light,  and  the 
moon  and  the  stars,  seemed  darkened  ;  it  was  a  day 
when  fears  were  in  the  way,  and  strong  men  bowed 


ARMY   OF   THE   POTOMAC.  199 


themselves,  and  were  "  afraid  of  that  which  is 
and  the  keeper  of  the  house  trembled. 

It  would  be  impossible  to  give  in  words  the  sense 
of  desolation  with  which  we  moved  about  our  hospital 
work,  or  of  the  profound  emotions  awakened  by  every 
muffled  drum  and  booming  cannon.  We  had  suffer 
ing,  and  sorrow,  and  death  all  about  us.  But  greater 
sorrow  and  bereavement  came  to  hallow  the  lesser, 
while  these  mingled  emotions  served  to  chasten  every 
thought  and  feeling,  and  to  make  every  duty  more 
sacred  than  before. 

With  the  return  of  peace  came  the  home  welcome 
to  our  sick  and  wounded  men.  Ward  by  ward  was 
vacated,  hospital  after  hospital  was  given  up,  until  at 
last  the  dismantled  barracks  were  all  that  was  left  of 
the  scene  of  our  absorbing  labors.  Year  by  year  these 
marks  of  a  great  hospital  department  will  be  lost. 
But  the  memories  of  calm  endurance  of  suffering,  of 
noble  hearts  hushed  in  death,  of  precious  companion 
ships  formed,  and  of  strong  characters  ripened  in  great 
emergencies,  will  ever  yield  a  grateful  blessing  upon 
the  services  and  sacrifices  of  hospital  life. 


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